


Honey and Vinegar

by pinuspinea, Pure_Anon



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst, Banter, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Marriage Proposal, Period appropriate clothing, Romantic Comedy, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Love, Well-Tailored Suits, Yearning, honeypot au, spy romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinuspinea/pseuds/pinuspinea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pure_Anon/pseuds/Pure_Anon
Summary: honeypotn.A pot of honey.(figurative) Something or some location that is attractive or rewarding and that entices a specific group of people.(figurative) Something or someone similarly sweet or enticing, particularly:A woman who attracts sexual attention from men.(espionage) A spy (typically attractive) who uses sex to trap and blackmail a target.Gleb Vaganov is given a simple mission: follow the Anastasia impostor to Paris, seduce her, and convince her to return to Russia. Unfortunately, there is one thing everyone overlooked: he is the most awkward man in all of Russia.They are all doomed.
Relationships: Anya | Anastasia Romanov & Maria Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Anya | Anastasia Romanov/Gleb Vaganov, Dimitri | Dmitry & Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Lily Malevsky-Malevitch & Gleb Vaganov, Lily Malevsky-Malevitch/Vlad Popov, Vlad Popov & Anya | Anastasia Romanov, Vlad Popov & Gleb Vaganov
Comments: 39
Kudos: 63





	1. In Which Gleb Has Too Much Tea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the collaboration of two people: PureAnon and pinuspinea. The original idea for this AU came from PureAnon's brain, who then passed on the idea to pinuspinea. PureAnon has also helped to plan this fic and has thoroughly beta-read the words written by pinuspinea.
> 
> The AU where Gleb gets sent to Paris to seduce Anya back to Russia. Featuring well-tailored suits and bad flirting.

Like most troubles in his life, it all starts when an office-wide meeting is called for the evening. Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov accepts the invite with a stony face and a harsh nod that makes the newest addition to their office flee with fear, and then he leaves the higher-ranking officer to stew in his room alone.

Gleb can guess what this meeting will be about. He has been following the Anastasia rumours for long enough, and everyone and their babushkas know what those two damned conmen did earlier in the day.

The telephones in his office work well enough for that, at least. Gleb's ears are still ringing from being yelled at by Commissioner Gorlinsky.

He sighs as he settles in with more paperwork, waiting for the meeting to begin.

Jelena Sergeyevna, their scarily competent informant-handler, has already prepared tea for everyone and set the meeting room in order. Gleb is one of the first few to arrive, always preferring the chance to choose his own seat. It's better than being left with the last one and having to sit next to comrade Ilya Vasilyevich.

Gleb would rather gouge his own eyes out than sit next to Ilya Vasilyevich for another meeting. The man has atrocious taste in tea, and there is nothing polite to be said about his conversational skills.

He nods his head as he accepts a fresh cup of tea. "Thank you, Jelena Sergeyevna." The woman pushes her round spectacles up on her face as Gleb takes a sip. She straightens it out just as he tastes the vodka slipped into the tea, and then she primly takes a seat of her own.

"I heard Gorlinsky was not happy about the news of the conmen's escape," she says conversationally and sips on her tea. Gleb knows her well enough to realise that she must have listened in on the phone call, but he is not angry about it. In fact, it is better to have Jelena Sergeyevna to clear out any possible misconceptions.

Some say that women should not rise to be in power. Gleb already knows that they could take over any moment they wanted, but so far they have not seen any reason to leave their comfortable desk jobs because they already control most of what is going on their lives. And they don't have to deal with the hassle of being a recognised leader.

"Commander Gorlinsky was right in that we should have been better prepared," Gleb admits even though in actuality he wants to say something completely different. However, his mother did not raise a common criminal. He has manners, and he will not swear in front of someone as respectable as Jelena Sergeyevna.

Though perhaps the biggest reason for his hesitation is that Jelena Sergeyevna would never let him live it down.

People start showing up the closer the clock on the wall ticks to the full hour. Chairs fill up quickly, and a minute before the meeting is supposed to start, Ilya Vasilyevich bumbles in and has to take a lone corner seat where he can only talk to the person who is right next to him.

A minute past the full hour, the last unlucky person to arrive is Maria Aleksandrovna who accepts her fate with a stony face and sits next to Ilya Vasilyevich.

Jelena Sergeyevna rises smoothly and gathers everyone's attention with a smile that makes most people in the room unconsciously straighten out their backs. Gleb takes another sip of his tea and listens to her bright voice.

"As we all know, our two least favourite conmen, Vladimir Popov and Dmitry Sudayev, have escaped Russia today with the suspected Anastasia impostor, a street-sweeper known only as Anya," Jelena Sergeyevna says.

Anya. The anger he felt this morning as he learned of her leaving Russia has faded into longing and confusion. Why would she want to leave Russia when it is her home? Why would she want to follow two conmen to the ends of the Earth? Why would she chase after some silly dream when she could have all she wanted here, with him?

Gleb knows better than to react to the name of the girl who caught his eye, so he simply keeps drinking his tea and burns his tongue in the process. He lets out a small hiss and nearly spills tea onto his lap in the process.

Some of the office girls share a smile with one another, and the tips of his ears turn the slightest shade of pink.

"Now, as always, we have quite a few options to discuss," Jelena Sergeyevna says dryly. Everyone's attention snaps back to her, just like she had intended. She looks at them all with her strikingly clear eyes. "We can always send someone after this bothersome threesome and dispose of them. However, if they are heading towards Paris and the Dowager Empress, we would prefer not to cause an international scandal. That is why our first true option is to bring the Anastasia impostor back to Russia and let her face a fair trial for what she has done."

Gleb feels sick to his stomach as he thinks about having to go after Anya just to kill her. Their motherland deserves better than old wounds being dragged open all over again. The Tsar is dead, and the Romanovs have been disposed of. This brave new Russia does not need to be pushed back into the control of the rich who do not care at all for the common man. Still...

"Or."

The moment Jelena Sergeyevna says that, everyone in the room holds their breath and looks at the woman, waiting for her to continue. She looks extremely serious for a moment.

"There is another option that has been brought up. Olga Ivanovna, would you care to elaborate?"

Olga Ivanovna is not someone Gleb has talked much with. He knows everyone in the office, of course, and he recognises the quiet girl who now rises and accepts everyone's attention though she fumbles with the cuff of her sleeve.

"Well, the new regime has talked about softening our image slightly," Olga Ivanovna says. "Russia needs new blood, and even one woman fleeing to the West is not exactly a good example for other women in the country."

"Get on with it," Alexander Alexandrovich snorts. Olga Ivanovna seems to curl up in herself, but Gleb raises his hand.

"Please, continue," he gestures to her kindly. The girl gives him a slightly dazed look and then a smile as bravery returns to her.

"It would be a wonderful story to tell the masses. There is a proper Russian girl who has been pushed astray by two men who do not hold her best interest at heart. They drag her into the West with them. Then, a loyal and handsome officer comes to take her home with him. Of course, they fall in love, get married, and work hard for the motherland. That would show everyone that our new country is exceedingly kind to even those who have made mistakes, and that loyalty always outweighs mistakes. The traitor could be re-educated to be the perfect propaganda tool, and we would gain lots of new little communists from the union."

Gleb listens to Olga Ivanovna with a carefully chosen blank look on his face even though his mind is racing. They are talking about Anya, and letting her live.

They are talking about marrying her off to some officer.

A sharp stab of jealousy runs through his stomach, and he carefully picks up his cup of tea and blows on the surface a little before taking a sip. He thinks about Anya and her exceedingly blue eyes, eyes almost as blue as the Neva itself, and he thinks about that hard-working, beautiful, and sweet street sweeper. 

She'd make a fine wife, he thinks. She'd bring much happiness to any man, but Gleb wistfully thinks what it would be like to be her husband. It would be nice, coming home and kissing her cheek. He could show her his favourite tea shops. He could get her coats warm enough that she would never shiver in the cold again.

But the chances of him getting chosen for this mission are low. Who would ever want Gleb Vaganov, the cool bureaucrat that is too passionate about his work? Who would ever decide that Gleb Vaganov is the one who could be the dashing hero a poor Russian girl would be unable to resist?

He wishes he could be the one to marry her.

The idea does not get laughed straight out of the office. Olga Ivanovna stands for a moment more, and then she sits down. Whether it is the late hour or the vodka that Jelena Sergeyevna has spiked the tea with, no one speaks against the idea right away. Instead, they give one another a few curious looks.

"One does catch more flies with honey than vinegar," Ilya Vasilyevich murmurs thoughtfully. The office girls perk up a little.

"We discussed this already with Commander Gorlinsky," Maria Alexandrovna says and has many people raising their eyebrows in surprise. "He said that we could do whatever we decided was the best course of action."

Gleb knows the girls well enough to realise that they must have simply said something about their future task, and Commander Gorlinsky must have simply wanted to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Technically that does count as permission, but Gleb does not want to be the one to explain the whole ruse to Commander Gorlinsky once Anya has been safely returned to Russia.

The discussion is not quite so quickly ended, but one by one, the girls manage to convince their fellow men that this plan is superior to their usual modus operandi. Finally, they turn their eyes towards Gleb Vaganov, seemingly ready to talk his ears off.

He raises a finger before they have the chance to even start.

"I do think this plan has merit," he tells them and probably surprises at least half of them, while the other half simply look satisfied. "However, I have a question."

"Please, do tell!" Jelena Sergeyevna says with a challenge in her bright eyes. Gleb lets out a slight breath at her complete lack of regard for proper protocol.

"How do we decide who should leave for this honourable task?"

The girls glance at one another.

"Well," Olga Ivanovna hesitates, "I was thinking that perhaps we could have a vote? To decide who is the best person for this job?"

Gleb Vaganov is not one to deny everyone a chance to vote, but some of the men look a bit hesitant.

"Wouldn't it be better to listen to what the women have to say for this matter?" Ilya Vasilyevich notes in a dry voice. "After all, it is a girl that the officer in question will seduce, and I am quite sure that the more beautiful half of this office knows best who is the most handsome and appealing officer to steal away a street-sweeper's heart."

It takes approximately three seconds for the women to decide that this, in fact, is the best idea Ilya Vasilyevich has had in his entire life.

Paper is quickly pulled from a writing machine and torn into thin strips. Pens get passed to all the women in the room. In silence, they scribble their chosen officer's name and drop it in a garrison cap that has laid around the office for a few months now. Some are quick to write a name, while others glance around the men before writing their choice down, but eventually, the hat is passed onto Jelena Sergeyevna, who mixes the slips of paper and pulls out the first slip of paper.

The tension in the room is palpable. Jelena Sergeyevna's eyebrows rise slightly as she clears her throat.

"Ilya Mishkin," she says. Gleb Vaganov lets out a sigh of relief. Ilya Vasilyevich may not be the best companionship if one happens to be of the less fair gender, but he is a handsome man, and he can be quite charming with women whenever he puts his mind into it.

Gleb Vaganov relaxes minutely and leans on the back of his chair as Jelena Sergeyevna pulls out another thin slip of paper.

"Gleb Vaganov."

The man in question looks up in confusion and with a slight frown forming on his face. Someone voted for him. Why would anyone think that  _ he _ is the best officer for this mission?

He takes another sip of tea as Jelena Sergeyevna picks another slip of paper at random.

"Gleb Vaganov."

This time he actually chokes, and with growing dread he listens as his name gets said aloud over and over again, and with each repetition, his face gets a little darker red.

Every other name than the first that is read aloud is his. Gleb sits in his chair, slumped down and staring at the wall. His face is redder than the Soviet flag.

The women of the office are openly grinning at one another and nudging each other. Gleb wishes he would be swallowed by earth right this very moment.

"Well, it seems that with overwhelming majority, the best man for this task has been decided to be Gleb Vaganov," Jelena Sergeyevna says with a curl of her lips. Gleb swallows thickly and glances around the office.

"I accept," he says slowly, the blush still blatant on his face. "It is an honour, truly."

And just like that, the solemn mood in the room turns into a party. There is vodka openly slipped into tea instead of being shuffled into it, and some men come to shake his hand. Surprisingly, not many of them look grudgingly at him.

At one point, Jelena Sergeyevna is close enough that Gleb manages to pull her in for a slightly more private conversation.

"Why exactly was I chosen?" he asks in genuine confusion. The amount of vodka he has consumed this evening is starting to affect him, and it must certainly affect Jelena Sergeyevna, since she looks up at the room in large.

"Why exactly did we vote for Gleb Stepanovich, girls?" her clear voice booms out. Gleb wishes he could turn back time and slink off the party before he ever caught her attention long enough to ask that question.

"Because he is always polite and remembers everyone's name!" Maria Alexandrovna laughs.

"And he opens the door and is so nice!" Olga Ivanovna blurts out and blushes with a wide smile.

"And his jokes are horrible, but he is so lovely when telling them!"

"Because of his laugh!"

"And his hands!"

"And because we can always appreciate a man who knows how to wear his uniform!"

"Because no one here is blind!"

Ilya Vasilyevich's comment makes everyone else laugh out loud, and Gleb looks at them, the blush back in full force.

He is very quick to escape the party after that.

Outside, frigid winter air hits his face immediately and makes his lungs burn with the very first breath he takes. He wraps his scarf tighter around his neck, and then he walks briskly towards his apartment.

Along the Neva, snow is nearly not as abundant. Gleb pushes his hands into his pockets and hurries his steps. Even though his apartment is not that far from the office, Russian winters still are tough enough that a single moment spent outside in this weather feels too long.

He can understand why Anya would long after a warmer climate. It must have been difficult, sweeping the streets of Leningrad in the middle of winter. She must have been cold all the time. Somewhere warmer, she would no longer shiver in cold. She wouldn't need the warmer coats that he would get her.

As soon as that thought enters his mind, he shakes his head and forces himself to think about something else. He does not want to think about Anya, not right now.

He fumbles with his keys for a moment, and then he quietly climbs the stairs to his apartment and steps inside. He hangs his clothes nicely on the rack by the door, and then he pads over to his bed.

He sits on it for a long moment and stares at the wall with his throat swelling up. Gleb Vaganov, the most awkward man in all of Russia, has been chosen for a mission to go after a beautiful girl and talk her into returning to Russia with him.

Gleb Vaganov, the most awkward man in all of Russia, is supposed to seduce someone.

They are all doomed.


	2. In Which Gleb Realizes He Has Made a Mistake

The next morning, Gleb wakes up with the worst hangover of his life. He groans softly into his pillow, burying his face into it for a moment longer, and he longingly thinks about warm tea and fresh bread.

It takes him a while to eventually get up and dress himself. His clothes are folded as neatly as they usually are. He puts them on with a familiarity that comes from years of wearing such uniforms.

His apartment is cold. He arrived so late last night that he did not even think of putting the heating on, so now he shivers as he heads into the kitchen and lights the stove.

A big pot of tea will do him good.

He prepares breakfast with a head that pounds with each breath he takes. While he waits for the tea to boil, he washes his face, shaves, and combs his hair. His eyes thankfully do not betray how miserable he is feeling.

Damn Jelena Sergeyevna and her vodka.

The pot whistles on the stove and Gleb quickly fills his chipped cup with tea. He nearly burns his tongue in his hurry to get some of it into his system. The tea is bitter. He has burned the leaves.

What a perfect way to start this horrible morning.

Gleb is too stubborn to throw the tea away, and so he empties the pot before his stomach is calm enough to tolerate some breakfast. He checks his pocket watch for the time. He is still on schedule.

No one will notice if he arrives a few minutes late. They'll be far too busy nursing their own hangovers.

Gleb stretches his back muscles slowly and stares out of the window. His mind wanders through his tasks for the day. Go to the office, do some paperwork, meet a few informants, go on his regular patrol, give another speech, return to the office. Follow up on the Anastasia rumours.

The Anastasia rumours.

Gleb still doesn't understand who in their right mind would choose someone like him for such a task. Now that his mind is no longer hazy with a long day of work and vodka, he can look at his incoming task objectively. Following Anya to Paris will be the easiest part. Somehow, once he arrives there, he will have to get her to talk to him.

She has met him. She knows he is an officer. He thinks about that first meeting at the square, the backfiring engine, the wild fear in her eyes. Was the fear because of bad memories, or was it because of his uniform?

Back in his office, she sat with a back straighter than a soldier's and spoke with carefully chosen words. There is a chance that she will not react well once she sees him in Paris. There is a chance that he will not be able to persuade her to follow him back to Russia.

For a moment, he wonders what he'd do in that situation, but eventually, he decides to leave thinking about failure for a more productive time.

Three in the morning, staring at the ceiling while his brain refuses to go to sleep sounds  _ perfect _ .

Gleb finishes his breakfast, puts on his overcoat, hat, and leather gloves, and then he glances out the window and adds a scarf to his uniform. As soon as he reaches the street, he knows it was the right choice. The weather has turned even colder during the night. Even the Neva looks thicker, as if it was half-frozen.

Winter is nearly over. Soon it will be spring, but this is not a spring he will see in Leningrad. This will be a Parisian spring, he thinks.

He reaches the office just a few minutes after his usual time of arrival, entering without any clue of the chaos that awaits inside.

"Gleb Stepanovich!" Jelena Sergeyevna says much too brightly considering how much vodka she drank last night. Gleb, sensing danger, immediately freezes just two steps into the lobby. Jelena Sergeyevna grins with her teeth bared.

"Jelena Sergeyevna," he says delicately and takes in the scene. Not only is she waiting for him in the lobby, she has Maria Aleksandrovna, Olga Ivanovna, and Ilya Vasilyevich with her. The other three look much less put-together than Jelena Sergeyevna. Ilya Vasilyevich looks like he hadn't even gone home during the night.

"We were already wondering if you'd gotten scared," Jelena Sergeyevna says with a teasing smile as she walks across the lobby. She grabs his elbow easily and drags him towards the other three. Her clasp is like steel. Gleb wonders if he could pull one of those letter knives from the front desk and cut his arm off before she manages to drag him into her lair.

"Why would I be afraid?" he says slowly. "I think I am a good enough soldier to follow my rules instead of behaving like a coward."

"That's the spirit," Ilya Vasilyevich says as Gleb is taken into the belly of the beast.

Surprisingly enough, Jelena Sergeyevna's office is not empty. Gleb raises his eyebrows as he sees the civilian woman in the room. She gives him a polite nod.

"Gleb Stepanovich, this is my sister, Natalia," Jelena Sergeyevna says. "She will help us ensure that your clothes will not give you away once you reach Paris."

"Pleasure to meet you, Natalia Sergeyevna," Gleb says with a nod of his head. The woman in question glances at her sister.

"Parisian fashion, then?" Natalia Sergeyevna mutters with a meaningful glance towards her sister.

Gleb stands ramrod still as his measurements are taken. Natalia Sergeyevna works with speed that speaks of a long professional career. She looks to be slightly older than her sister, but Gleb does not know that many things about their family. All he knows about Jelena Sergeyevna is that she is one of the party's favourites and that she is more competent than at least half of the office combined. That has been more than enough for him to decide to be very, very careful around the woman. Steering away from her is impossible without looking impolite, and the thought of being impolite sounds like a horrible option.

If there is one person Gleb never wishes to anger, it is Jelena Sergeyevna. Commander Gorlinsky is a powerful enemy as well, but Jelena Sergeyevna will torture you before your doom and make you thank you for it.

"Why don't you try these?" Natalia Sergeyevna says and pulls a pair of grey trousers from a trunk that's been in the corner of the room. Gleb accepts them and steps into his own office for a few minutes to put them on. When he returns, Natalia Sergeyevna hums thoughtfully.

Olga Ivanovna bends her neck as he studies the sight of him in front of them all. Gleb quietly wonders why exactly this fitting of clothes needs so many witnesses.

"Brown won't do," Olga Ivanovna states. "No, Gleb Stepanovich will look much better in a grey suit."

Natalia Sergeyevna gives her a long look.

"Brown fabric of the right quality would be much easier to get than any other colour," Natalia Sergeyevna states. Maria Aleksandrovna shakes her head.

"Do not worry about that, Natasha," Maria Aleksandrovna says calmly. "We'll take care of that issue."

"We'll also need some good quality shoes," Ilya Vasilyevich says as he looks at Gleb's own uniform shoes. Gleb is almost ready to bristle at that disparaging look. "As good as these ones are, Western shoes are different. If you go to Paris with those shoes, Gleb Stepanovich, everyone will immediately know you are a Russian as soon as you step off the train."

Gleb sighs.

"I suppose you know that better than I do, Ilya Vasilyevich," he states slowly. After all, Ilya usually handles their contacts abroad and collects information from their European spies. Out of all the people in the room, he probably knows the most about Parisian fashions.

The lengths Gleb must go to just to get a girl married to him and then ship her back to Russia as quickly as he can.

Natalia Sergeyevna makes a few markings to the trousers and then puts him into a coat that clashes horribly with the fabric of the trousers. Gleb forces himself not to squirm. He does not know this woman quite well enough to know whether she is a kind person or much more like her sister who would gladly stab him with a few needles if he made her work more difficult.

Eventually, the first fitting comes to an end. Jelena Sergeyevna leaves with her sister and Maria Aleksandrovna, while Olga Ivanovna and Ilya Vasilyevich pull Gleb into the latter one's office.

Gleb longingly thinks about his own office and the samovar that waits for him inside. He thinks even more longingly about the pile of paperwork waiting on his desk. Anything to get him away from this mess.

" _ Parlez-vous français? _ " Ilya Vasilyevich asks in a much smoother voice than he speaks his Russian. Gleb is almost surprised for a moment.

" _ Oui _ ," he answers, a little rusty. " _ Je ne connais pas beaucoup le français, mais assez. _ "

"That is a relief," Olga Ivanovna states with a smile. "It would have been quite the job to teach you enough French to manage in a few short days."

"The accent could be better. White Russians will recognise you immediately from your accent, so do try to avoid them, hmm?"

Ilya Vasilyevich says it with kindness, but it still makes Gleb bristle.

"I should think I would try to avoid White Russians to the best of my ability," he states frostily. Ilya Vasilyevich and Olga Ivanovna glance at one another.

"From what I have heard," Ilya Vasilyevich states slowly, "most Anastasia impostors try to approach the Dowager Empress by meeting her in a place she may visit occasionally, and those places are highly popular among the White Russians. Of course, Russian is commonly spoken there, but if you do speak French around them, it will give you away immediately. If we are lucky, however, you will have a chance to approach her before she ever manages to integrate herself with those traitors."

Gleb dearly wishes so as well. He does not want to visit the bars and clubs White Russians have taken over. Firstly, there will be White Russians there. Secondly, there will be  _ people _ there.

Gleb nearly shivers in horror as he thinks about his task and how he must try his best in Paris. He so dearly wishes he had had the good sense to decline this mission. Why did he let himself get lured by the idea of Anya to forget what such missions require?

Oh. Because he is a fool, and when he is drunk, he can apparently only think about pretty street-sweepers.

Olga Ivanovna and Ilya Vasilyevich do not give him any mercy. They start to prepare him for his mission in Paris with a fervor that is slightly frightening. Gleb speaks more French in this one day than he has spoken in years, and by the time the clock strikes six, he is so exhausted he wishes he had let his hungover mind win this morning and stayed in bed.

Olga Ivanovna and Ilya Vasilyevich tell him goodbye, and in a daze, Gleb goes to his own office. He is surprised to see that there is no paperwork waiting for him on his table. Everything is neat, and as he goes to check on everyone, it seems like they all have done his work for him.

The office girls give him encouraging smiles and the men nod their heads before leaving. Gleb decides it would be best to follow their example.

He tries not to think about Anya on his way home, but fails miserably.

* * *

The three days it takes to get him prepared for his mission are busy. Gleb packs a suitcase of regular clothes for himself, clothes that may not be exactly the latest fashion but that will still be appropriate for the trip. In another suitcase, he puts everything a Russian spy might need in Paris.

On the third day, his French lesson and mission preparation with Ilya Vasilyevich is interrupted by the hesitant knocking of Olga Ivanovna. Jelena Sergeyevna is grinning far too widely.

"Get dressed, Gleb Stepanovich," she says with bared teeth and throws a lump of dark grey fabric at him.

Gleb glances at the suit that he has been given, and then excuses himself to go put it on. When he returns, Jelena Sergeyevna immediately whistles.

"You were right about that grey," she tells Olga Ivanovna who giggles slightly. Gleb frowns.

"This suit is too tight," he murmurs as he tries to roll his shoulders. For some reason, the women deem that funny.

"Oh, it most definitely is not," Ilya Vasilyevich says with a slight smile. "You'll have to get used to having your gun in a pocket instead of strapped under your armpit."

Gleb frowns as he checks the suit jacket from the mirror. The jacket was not the article of clothing he was actually complaining about, but considering the company he is in, he does not dare say anything about the trousers.

The shoes are the newest leather he has ever seen. Gleb quietly wonders where in Leningrad Olga Ivanovna, Maria Aleksandrovna, and Jelena Sergeyevna could find such shoes, but then he decides he does not want to know.

He still thinks a new suit like this is wasteful when he has two suits of his own that could work just as well.

When he turns around, he catches the direction Jelena Sergeyevna has been staring at. He flushes bright red.

"Definitely not too tight," Jelena Sergeyevna says with a wide grin as her eyes slowly travel up the double row of buttons on his breast before she reaches his eyes.

"I've booked tickets to a train leaving the day after tomorrow," Olga Ivanovna tells him. "There won't be many people on it. You should have a whole cabin for yourself until Kaunas."

"And I've arranged for some help for tomorrow," Maria Aleksandrovna says. "To help you with the seduction."

Gleb swallows thickly.

"That sounds agreeable," he says even as his eyes glance towards the window and the Neva.

Is it too late to throw himself into the river?

* * *

When he comes to the office next morning and sees who has taken over his office, he very nearly follows his gut reaction from the day before. The three prostitutes that told him about Anya being involved with the two conmen are lounging in his office and enjoying  _ his tea _ . They look at him as if he was a mouse subjected to the terrors of three sadistic housecats.

Paulina, Dunya, and Marfa raise their cups of tea. Gleb closes the door to his office all the while composing the report in his head that will send Maria Aleksandrovna into the coldest parts of Siberia.

"Well, if it isn't the Deputy Commissioner," Marfa says with an arrogant smirk. Gleb sits down behind his desk and pours himself a cup of tea.

"I presume you were the ones who Maria Aleksandrovna deemed perfect to teach me about seduction," he says stonily. Paulina, Marfa, and Dunya glance at one another.

"Is that what we call it nowadays?" Dunya asks with a polite smile as she blinks her long and thick lashes a few times.

Gleb decides to add a few years of hard labour to Maria Aleksandrovna's sentence.

"Any tips to seducing the Anastasia impostor would be greatly appreciated," he mumbles in his mouth and pointedly sips his tea.

The three women stare at one another blankly.

"We weren't invited here for the other thing?" Paulina confirms. Gleb frowns.

"The other thing?" he asks. The three women glance at one another.

"I can see what exactly she meant when she said that he is going to need all the help he can get," Marfa murmurs as she glances at him thoughtfully.

Gleb sets his cup down hard enough that the clink makes the women glance at him with slight worry, but then they relax again.

"Well, Deputy Commissioner, have you ever seduced someone not as a job?" Paulina asks. Gleb looks at her for a long while, but eventually, he shakes his head the smallest amount.

They dig the most embarrassing confessions out of him. He has to admit his unfamiliarity with the fairer sex and his lack of expertise in matters of the heart. They speak of sex with such familiarity and calmness that it makes Gleb wish he had followed his instinct straight through the window and into the Neva.

It is bad enough to have to listen to their musings on the best ways to seduce Anya, and it is even worse having to practice with them. Each time he stutters, he has to repeat what they have told him to say three times before they allow him to move on.

If Gleb ever has to ever look at Anya's bosom and try to form a coherent string of words, he'll most likely combust. He does not even understand what has made Paulina  _ think _ he'd ever stare at Anya like that.

Well, the thought  _ may _ have crossed his mind, but he does not listen to such devils. It is already enough that he has to deal with Jelena Sergeyevna on the regular.

When they finally leave, he buries his face in his hands. He has a steadily growing headache. Resting his head against his desk, he wonders what the others must think. He has not left his room in hours, and then, three prostitutes walk out, laughing and joking with one another.

For a moment Gleb wonders if he has died and gone to hell, for there cannot be any other explanation for the torture he has been subjected to.

There is a knock on his door. He groans as he straightens his back.

"Come in," he says and gets up to clean the cups.

Jelena Sergeyevna comes in with a much too satisfied look upon her face. Gleb narrows his eyes.

"You knew what Maria Aleksandrovna was planning," he accuses her. Jelena Sergeyevna tries to smile innocently but she's betrayed by the twinkling of her eyes.

"Oh, but we thought you might enjoy a few tips before embarking on your mission," she tells him in a bright voice. "You always like to be so prepared, Gleb Stepanovich, and who better to prepare you than professional seducers?"

He stares at her blankly. She bursts into laughter.

"You are a horrible person," he murmurs as empties the samovar of the rest of the tea and sips on it, done with this day and this life. He looks longingly at the Neva. Tomorrow he will leave Russia and won't be back for a long time. He will miss spring in Leningrad, how snow melts and reveals grass underneath it, how suddenly everything blooms all at once and his eyes get assaulted by green.

Perhaps he can bring Anya back by early summer, and then they could have a summer wedding.

His stomach churns as he thinks about the advice the three women gave him. He thinks about the way they told him to touch her, how they told him to be brave and kiss her and flirt with her, to give her compliments and always hint at something more.

He blushes as he thinks about that. Jelena Sergeyevna latches onto it immediately

"You'll do just fine, Gleb," Jelena Sergeyevna tells him with surprising kindness. He looks at her, a little thrown by the intimacy of just using his first name.

Perhaps it is time to admit they could be friends.

"Thank you, Jelena," he murmurs and sits back behind his desk with a sigh. Jelena sits herself easily enough on the chair that Marfa sat on. The two women could not be any more different if they tried. Jelena is all primness and carefully preened, whereas Marfa could never be tamed into wearing uniform regulations or sitting like she wasn't trying to guide someone's eyes along her legs.

Even Jelena relaxes minutely. She looks younger like that and less like a woman who has fought tooth and nail to have her position.

"You're not too blue about marrying her, are you?" Jelena asks. Gleb looks at her in confusion.

"Why would I be?"

Her eyes twinkle, but she says nothing. Instead, she stretches her ankles and studies him for a long moment. Gleb feels uncomfortably like she sees much more than he is willing to reveal.

There is a long moment of peace as they sit there. Gleb looks around the office he hasn't had for that long. It's a beautiful room, though that is not why he appreciates it. No, he likes the view of the Neva, the large windows.

He likes the idea that one day, Anya may be here with him.

"It will be boring without you," Jelena says. "Whom will I now torture now that my favourite victim has gone abroad?"

"Ilya Vasilyevich?" he suggests.

They look at each other, and then they laugh.

Yes, he will most definitely miss Leningrad.


	3. In Which Gleb Has to Talk to Women

The day of his departure arrives. That morning Gleb gets up early, even earlier than usual, and he walks around his empty apartment and thinks about what life will be like once he returns to Russia with Anya.

He takes his suitcases and gives the rooms one last glance, and then he starts walking towards the station.

Olga Ivanovna, Maria Aleksandrovna, Ilya Vasilyevich, and Jelena have all come to the train station to send him on his way. Gleb sees them waiting by the right train and does not hesitate even for a moment to approach his coworkers.

"Oh Gleb, we shall miss you," Jelena says and hugs him. Gleb awkwardly tries to answer her hug, but it is a bit difficult since he is still holding the suitcases.

"Since when have you called him just Gleb?" Maria Aleksandrovna asks sharply.

"Since yesterday," Jelena says snidely. Maria Aleksandrovna looks almost insulted.

"Well, it seems we are all friends, then!" Ilya Vasilyevich says with a wide grin as he steals one of his suitcases. "Gleb, comrade, try to enjoy Paris a little, hmm?"

Gleb looks thoroughly unimpressed, and his face falls into incredulity when Ilya Vasilyevich winks after saying those words. Olga Ivanovna pushes a sharp elbow into Ilya Vasilyevich's side.

"Don't listen to this idiot," she says and gives Gleb a hug of her own.

Gleb feels overwhelmed. He cannot remember the last time someone hugged him, and now he has gotten two hugs in less than a minute. He doesn't think that something like that has happened before. It must have been a few years since the last time someone even patted his shoulder affectionately.

Something is caught in his throat. Gleb clears it.

"I won't be gone quite that long," he tells his newly made friends with a smile. "It will be nothing more than a quick trip to Paris. I'll be back before you even realise it."

His new friends glance at one another.

"It will be interesting to meet your bride," Maria muses. Gleb freezes on his spot.

"You didn't forget you were supposed to bring her back, right?" Jelena confirms. Gleb sighs.

"I'd need quite the blow to the head to forget something like that," he says sardonically.

To his surprise, his new friends actually laugh at that.

"Just try not to get too spellbound by her," Jelena laughs. Olga giggles a little at that.

"Yes, now that you have first class tips for making her fall in love with you," she teases.

"You too, Olga?" Gleb says in pretend hurt. They all laugh together. Gleb feels warmth spreading inside him as if he had just had a particularly good cup of tea.

"It will be so boring in the office without you," Ilya states with a wide smile. "Who will consume half the tea in the building?"

Gleb sighs and shakes his head.

"I do not understand why I associate with lowlifes like you," he murmurs as if he actually did not approve of it and as if their behaviour did not make him feel all warm and cosy inside.

At least he knows he will have these people who have his back once he returns. Perhaps Commissioner Gorlinsky will also come to realise how brilliant their plan has been and will reward them all with a break from having to deal with him.

The train's time of departure is getting closer and closer. Gleb shifts his weight onto his other leg.

"I will send a message once I've arrived in Paris," he promises to his friends. They smile encouragingly at him.

"You'll manage just fine," Ilya says as he shakes his hand. Maria follows his example instead of giving him a hug. For a moment, Gleb was worried that she might just squeeze him and try to fondle him, but no. Instead, Maria discretely dabs at the corners of her eyes.

"Well, go on, Vaganov," she says in a sharp voice. Gleb snaps into attention and she smirks. He looks at her, unimpressed.

"I'll remember that," he promises as he picks up his other suitcase from Ilya and then climbs aboard the train.

It's not difficult to find his cabin. He stands at the window and stares down onto the platform and watches his friends as the train jolts into movement and starts pulling away.

Olga is the only one to wave, but they all have smiles on their faces. Gleb only realises he had been smiling as well once he takes his seat and brings out a book to amuse him.

* * *

Leningrad turns into countryside soon enough. The train tracks cut across great expanses of Russia, but eventually, even Russia ends. Gleb takes out his documents and shows them to the border guard who wishes him good luck on his trip.

The train crosses the border. Gleb feels a certain nervousness leave him. This is the first time he has ever been outside of Russia. All his life, he has only known Russia, its many cities and many forests and many fields and rivers and lakes, and now, he only has the unknown waiting for him. There will be many borders he will have to cross before he reaches France and Paris. There will be many countries he will see, but only one that he shall miss in any way.

Gleb looks at the view from the window. Not much is different on this side of the border from the one he knows. Eventually, he lowers his gaze back into his book and reads until it's too dark to see the landscape rushing by.

Evening turns to night. Gleb eats the rest of his packed lunch, goes to the washroom to clean himself up and to shave his scruff off, and then he bunches an extra shirt into a pillow behind his neck, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

He's not exactly sure what clues him on that it is a dream. Perhaps it is the comfort he feels in that smoky and hazy club; perhaps it is the music he cannot quite make out; perhaps it's the way Anya laughs openly, bending her head back, her hair streaming down her neck and her back.

Gleb's eyes are glued onto her lips as they quirk into a knowing smile. She leans closer to him and lays a hand on his knee. Her blue, enticing dark blue eyes are filled with the light of a thousand stars. Her painted lips brush his cheek and leave him aching to touch her.

His hands are not his own. He can only mutely stare at her as her hand lands on his knee and then rubs it.

"What's wrong, Deputy Commissioner?" she asks in a low voice as she blinks those big blue eyes of hers. Her hand climbs up on his thigh. "Aren't you going to enjoy your tea?"

As if he was bewitched, his eyes turn away from her and immediately see the steaming cup in front of him. His hands are not his own as he picks the cup up, and she leans even closer to him. He can feel her heat pushing against his arm.

Her smile grows as she comes to kiss him. His mouth opens, and the tea flows into her mouth. She swallows.

He wakes up with a jolt and nearly runs to the bathroom. The train is rocking on the tracks as he splashes water onto his skin and squeezes his fingers into tight fists. Gleb breathes through his nose slowly and tries to control his raising pulse.

He wants to calm down. He needs to calm down, and as he leans over, he tries to get rid of all images of that dream and what it felt like to kiss Anya in it.

Gleb doesn't know how long exactly he stands in that washroom, but eventually, he washes his hands and dries them carefully. He studies his own image in the mirror. Nothing would clue others onto how shaken he is. He looks presentable.

He is no longer straining against his uniform trousers.

Gleb returns to the cabin and sits on his seat for a long time. The night is deeper than he has seen in ages. During his time in Leningrad, he has forgotten all about how dark the nights get. In Yekaterinburg he could always see the stars and the curling of the galaxy overhead. In Leningrad, such things were much less common.

Here, in the countryside, the night is again dark. There are only a few flashes in the distance, too far away to ever recognise.

There is a surprising comfort in sitting here all alone. He knows there are other passengers, even in this carriage, but right now, he can pretend there is no one else in the world. There is no risk that anyone would find out about his shame. There is no risk that anyone would bumble into the cabin and see him swallowing thickly again and again as that dream returns to the forefront of his mind.

He groans and leans against the back of his seat. 

Gleb has never actually… been intimate with anyone. He had always thought there would be time for that at some later point. He had been pretty convincing in his arguments. All his life, he has been so busy, too busy to think about such matters. First there was the revolution and the chaos caused by it, then the civil war, taking care of his mother after his father died, joining the war, trying to acclimate in Leningrad, and then endless work. He hasn't had the time to look for a wife. He hasn't had the  _ need _ to look for a wife. He's had enough on his plate.

But now there suddenly is a deadline for that. He takes a big gulp of air and counts to ten before letting it out. He is not a man who likes to lie to himself. He is frightened. He fears what will happen in Paris and whether he will succeed.

But he also has to admit that he is not exactly afraid of marrying  _ Anya _ . The little street-sweeper from Leningrad has been quite busy occupying his thoughts. If he had had more time, he would have asked her for tea again until she agreed, and then they could have talked and he could have told her jokes and admired her quietly. If he had had more time, he could have gotten her good, thick, leather mittens so that her hands would not ache in the cold.

There would not have been any pressure. He could have been himself instead of trying to be a suave and sleek Bolshevik officer.

Gleb rubs his face with his hands and sighs deeply. This all would be much easier if he knew what he was doing. Everyone at the office supposed that he would be the right man for this mission, but he has not even  _ kissed _ a girl. Well. He has kissed girls. When he was eleven, he shared a kiss with Daria behind the school, but that was a schoolboy's kiss. In the war, a kind nurse kissed his cheek because he was polite to her, but not his lips. And he has kissed a few girls at New Year's parties, but those never led anywhere. Those were not  _ real _ kisses.

It won't be long before he is in Paris. It won't be long before he sees Anya again, and then he'll have to smile and talk and not falter in his words. He'll have to remember what Dunya, Marfa, and Paulina told him and how Maria wants him to act. He'll have to remember the parts of the mission that are critical as declared by Ilya and Olga. He'll have to remember all those off-handed comments Jelena made.

He feels like his head is exploding.

He may be hyperventilating again.

* * *

After changing trains two times and far too many days on the tracks, he is finally on a train heading for Paris. The deeper he delves into the depths of Central Europe, the stranger the world around him seems. The trains slowly become more decorated and the people on board them flaunt their wealth casually. Gleb swallows his comments and reads his books as pointedly as he can.

At nights, he sleeps restlessly, worried about anyone passing his cabin hearing his laboured breaths or the moans he may let out when in that hazy dreamworld where Anya looks at him with those big eyes and doesn't look afraid of him.

He very vehemently  _ does not _ think about those dreams when he is awake.

This far away from Leningrad, he no longer hears conversations in Russian. Baltic languages change into Polish, and then slowly German, and then, French is all around him. More people step on board, and eventually, he can no longer claim a cabin for just himself. Two older women take their seats, and Gleb keeps his eyes lowered and listens in on their conversation, hoping to catch any hint of interesting news.

They talk of their plans and their lives. Gleb turns the page and wishes he could at least have something interesting to listen in on, or conversations in languages he wouldn't understand. He'd much rather be able to focus on his book rather than listen to a single more minute of these two old women droning on and on about their dogs — or possibly their husbands.

The conversation is much more amusing if he imagines they are talking about their husbands. However, he hardly believes their husbands would urinate on a particularly ugly chaise lounge given by their mothers-in-law. He, however, can imagine something like that happening if the mother-in-law is horrible enough and the husband has gotten a bit too deep into a bottle.

Even his imagination cannot save him once those two old ladies start discussing the latest fashions. He gets up and heads into the dining car.

There are some younger women enjoying lunch at a table nearby. He orders tea and the cheapest food he can get in French that has started to flow slightly more freely than it flowed in Leningrad. The women gaze at him and smile as he catches them staring. He politely nods his head back at them and wonders if women are just braver in the West.

One of them approaches him eventually after a lot of nudging and giggling.

"May I ask your name?" she asks with a soft smile.

Gleb looks up with a slight frown.

"Gleb Vaganov," he says and wonders what the woman needs it for.

"May I sit here, Gleb?" she asks. Her French flows much smoother than his. He gestures for her to take the empty seat opposite to him.

He pours himself more tea and reads a few more lines of his book before he realises that she is still looking at him.

"Is there something on my face?" he asks. The girl actually giggles.

"I was simply wondering if you'd like to go for dinner in Paris with me," she says with an easy smile.

The alarm bells in his head finally start ringing, and he freezes as if Jelena was looking at him with that threateningly wide and sharp smile of hers.

"I am sorry, I do not speak French," he says in his far too smooth French, nearly jumps up, grabs the tea cup and the pot and flees the dining car.

The door to his cabin closes with a loud bang. The two elderly ladies he is sharing his cabin with stare at him in befuddlement.

Gleb sinks into his seat, buries his head into his hands, and tries to calm down his breathing.

"Is everything all right, young man?" one of them asks compassionately. Gleb squeezes the pot of tea as if it was his lifeline.

"Can you hide me from mad French girls?" he nearly begs them.

The old ladies stare at him, and then, the one closer to the corridor pulls the cabin curtains closed.

Gleb still hugs his pot of tea like it was Marx's collected works and shakes like mad.

He wishes no one will look at him again before Paris, and even there, only Anya, please. He cannot take talking to strangers.

He cannot take being ogled by strangers.

Eventually, he returns the pot and the cup to the servers in the dining car with many apologies made for his rude behaviour only minutes before the train stops in Paris. He steps out onto the platform and stands there, feeling dizzy.

He is in Paris. For a moment, he just stands there, looking at the platform, and then he gets shoved by a particularly rude Frenchman who doesn't even bother to apologise.

Gleb turns up his nose and starts walking towards the station building.

There is a map in the breast pocket of his coat, and he gets it out once he has made it to the street. It's not a long distance to the hotel, and his legs are restless after spending so many days on the train.

The streets of Paris are not snowy. They are clean, dry, and already in the grips of spring. Gleb takes off his coat and lays it over his arm as he walks, and all around him, the city feels strange. It's almost like an ache he cannot place.

The hotel is nondescript. Gleb almost walks past it at first, but then his trained eye catches the faded sign on the wall. It's not a busy street nor a popular district. The people here look like they are too focused in their own lives to pay him any attention.

He enters the hotel, and there is only an old man lounging behind the front desk, drinking coffee. He looks up.

"Yes?" he says as if he did not want Gleb to be there. Gleb straightens his back and walks to the old man.

"I would like to rent a room," he tells the man. "For at least two months."

Gleb does not have a strict timeline, but he does think that two months will be more than enough to at least get in contact with Anya. If he needs more time, then he shall pay for more time.

He has the funds for it. The party takes care of its loyal supporters.

The old man gets up with slowness that is borderline impolite and accepts the money Gleb offers to him. He even has the nerve to count it slowly.

He counts it  _ twice _ . Gleb stands there with a blank face and waits.

The old man gives him a key.

"Don't bother the other guests," the man tells him and points towards the staircase. "Third floor."

Gleb nods. He, however, is not quite satisfied yet.

"Is it possible to make a long distance phone call?" he inquires. The old man frowns.

"You'll have to pay for that."

Gleb quietly curses capitalism in his head as he thrusts another note at the old man and finally gets shown to a phone. He quickly dials a number, and then he waits.

There is a click as the connection goes through.

"Privyet," the familiar Russian greeting graces his ears. Gleb smiles at Olga's voice.

"Hello and greetings from Paris," he speaks in Russian. The old man shuffles back behind his desk and lights a cigarette.

"Oh Gleb! You made it!" Olga sounds delighted. "How was the journey? Have you gotten used to the city yet? Have you seen her?"

Gleb chuckles at Olga's enthusiasm.

"I just arrived," he answers easily. "I just thought I'd let you know I'm here. Has there been any news?"

Olga hums thoughtfully. Her voice crackles a little.

"There have been some reports of the Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch being seen with a new arrival in town," Olga reports dutifully. "We think it may be one of them."

Gleb pinches his nose.

"I'll have to be quick, then," he murmurs. "Any places I should visit?"

Olga rattles off a short list. Gleb quickly scribbles a few words to his map, and then he ends the phone call.

He drags his suitcases upstairs and decides that he will just have to face his destiny tonight. He cannot wait.

His hands shake so bad he nearly slashes his throat when he shaves and freshens up in his room. Very quietly, Gleb puts the razor down and tries to remember the lines the three prostitutes taught him to say in his office. He tries to repeat them, and he nearly chokes on his own spit.

Well this will be just  _ splendid _ .


	4. In Which Gleb Plays the Suave Soviet Seducer

Dusk does not last nearly as long in Paris as it does in Leningrad. It throws him off his guard at first, seeing how soon the sky darkens, but Paris is not a dark city. No, as soon as darkness threatens it, all those lights are lit and suddenly he bathes in electric light.

It's almost gaudy, Gleb thinks.

He has gotten somewhat used to the grey suit, but it still feels too stiff on him, too restrictive. Gleb does not fidget. He has been trained better than that.

He is not the only person prowling the streets. There are many young women in their shapeless dresses and short hair with young men offering their arms to them. Everyone is dressed in such different clothes than in Leningrad. Gleb slinks by and counts the streets in his mind, following the mental map he has of Paris.

The small club is across the street from a much gaudier club. Gleb frowns as he sees the red neon lights, and then he stares at the two words in Russian script for a long time.

What in the name of sanity is  _ Ietsd slib _ ?

He quietly shakes his head and decides to leave such mysteries for a later time. In any case, that gaudier club is not his destination today. Instead, he easily enters the other, much smaller and much more stylish club.

There are not that many people inside. Gleb stops for a moment to take in the room and, out of habit, counts the exits and checks the layout. There is a woman singing and a pianist accompanying her in the back corner and quite a few people at the bar.

Gleb's eyes carefully travel the room. His eye is finally caught by soft red blonde hair. A sharp pain catches him off. She's cut her hair. Anya's long locks are gone, and now she has a short bob like the fashionable French girls he has seen all around.

Gleb quietly buries his guilty dream of letting his fingers run through her long hair.

It's fine. It's her hair. Whatever she wants to do with it is her choice.

Gleb dearly wishes he had taken some liquid courage before ever coming to this club as Anya finally turns around, catching onto his staring from the other end of the room. Their eyes meet, and her jaw drops. Gleb knows there is no time to think anymore, so he makes his way across the room.

She is beautiful, he thinks. Her dress is a dark orange that brings out the warmth in her hair. Her white gloves are up to her elbows. Even in this horrible Western dress she looks beautiful.

"Your hair. It's different."

Gleb regrets his choice of words the moment they come out of his too big mouth. Anya blinks at him, thrown off guard. She is staring at him with big eyes. Those enticing blue eyes of hers seem to get even bigger as they take in his suit.

She swallows and then smiles. By some miracle, she does not bolt or accuse him of following her, but  _ smiles _ .

Gleb is almost done berating himself. All that time in the train and the planning he has made, and already he has strayed so far from his plan that he may as well be in Murmansk herding reindeer. How many times did he imagine this first meeting in Paris? How many times did he practice the words Dunya, Paulina, and Marfa taught him in his office?

"You look very different yourself," she says with a teasing smile. Gleb's lips melt into a smile as well.

Anya doesn't seem to mind as he takes a seat next to her. She raises a hand, and soon enough, a waiter brings them drinks. Gleb is about to dig out some notes, but Anya is quicker than him and pays for the drinks.

"What are you doing in Paris?" Anya asks as she takes a sip of her drink. Gleb tries his own. It does not have the same sting as vodka, but it burns in his throat all the same.

"I followed you, of course," he tells her. She looks wary for a moment. Gleb leans back on his chair and looks at her for a long while. He tries to remember what the street girls in Leningrad lectured him about, but suddenly, he comes short. His brain is completely filled with the image of Anya in Western fashions, her hair short, cosmetics highlighting her features.

Gleb's heartbeat picks up as he tries to come up with something to say.

"What in the name of sanity is  _ Ietsd slib _ ?" he blurts. Anya stares at him. Gleb feels like an idiot.

"The  _ Ietsd slib _ ?" Anya says slowly. Gleb wants to bang his head hard enough against their table to cause brain damage. Perhaps then he would have a reason for acting this foolish.

"On the other side of the street?" Gleb says in a slightly smaller voice, now uncertain of himself. The confusion clears in Anya's eyes. Her lips curl into a teasing smile.

"I think you mean the Neva club," she tells him. Gleb frowns.

"The Neva club?" he says, and then his face falls blank. "Couldn't they be bothered to even ask how that would be spelled in Russian?"

Anya grins openly at him. Gleb lets out a frustrated sigh and takes a sip of his drink.

"I do  _ not _ understand the West," Gleb mutters. Anya takes a sip of her own drink.

"But Paris is quite nice, isn't it?" she asks. Gleb's lips thin out.

"If you like rude Frenchmen, ogling French girls, and old women who talk incessantly," he murmurs almost to himself. Anya looks amused.

"But it's also very beautiful here," she says. "The people just are different, but you cannot deny it's a beautiful place."

"It's warmer here," he admits. "Less snow."

They are quiet for a moment. Gleb nurses his drink.

"I thought you might like the warmth," he says eventually. Anya looks up in surprise.

"How come?"

He shrugs.

"You looked so cold in Leningrad," he says quietly. "I thought you might like Paris because then you'd never have to be that cold again or have cold sores in your hands."

He thinks about those bare hands in winter cold and the shivers that wrecked her body. Not all of it could have been just fear, but cold usually makes fear feel worse. Her coat was threadbare and looked like it had seen better days. Even her shoes had holes in them, holes that heat would have seeped out of immediately.

If she had just stayed in Leningrad, he would have gotten her warm leather mittens and a sturdier coat and wool to cover her legs, and he would have gotten her all the tea he could have just to keep her warm.

But they are in Paris now, and he has to ensure she won't stay here any longer than is strictly necessary.

Gleb clears his throat.

"You look beautiful," he says and is proud that he only stutters a little. Anya's eyebrows climb up on her forehead.

"Am I?" she asks slowly. Gleb nods and licks his lips.

"The dress suits you," he says and lets his eyes go a little lower.

She is wearing pearls. Gleb nearly chokes as he catches sight of her collarbones, and then his eyes snap back onto her face. 

There is the same twinkling in those blue eyes as in his dreams. He has to fight his own thoughts to bury the memory of them. He must focus. He must follow the plan. He must convince her to come back to Russia with him.

He must kiss her and caress her and —

He takes in a shaky breath as a blush rises to his cheeks.

Anya is looking at him in a very peculiar manner. Her eyes are slightly narrowed, but they do not look suspicious. No, she looks like she is trying to figure something out.

Gleb dearly hopes she doesn't catch onto the plot quite this quickly.

"Does it?" Anya asks. Gleb has to remind himself of what they have been talking about. "What do you like most about this dress?"

He smiles a little. This time, his eyes flow freely to the orange fabric that has been gathered onto her bony shoulders. His eyes do not stray anywhere else, but instead dart between the shoulder seam and her hair.

"It makes the red come out in your hair," he murmurs.

Anya's eyes narrow slightly more, but the smile stays. Gleb takes another sip of his drink and realises he's already emptied the glass.

Perhaps alcohol could help. Goodness knows he's much more likely to be impulsive when he's drunk, and he's going to need all the help he can get.

They listen to the music for a while. Gleb is glad for this moment of reprieve he gets from having to talk. This is more stressful than war ever was. Hell, this is more stressful than any single workday in Leningrad ever was.

Gleb does not understand how some men have a new lady at their arms every week. It's stressful enough trying to keep the attention of one.

"You look really uncomfortable here," Anya notes. Gleb glances at her.

"What gave it away?" he asks with a grimace. Anya chuckles at that.

"Everything?" she murmurs and looks at him. "You keep glaring at everyone else and you desperately look like you want to get away from here."

"I'll admit this is not the kind of place I'd usually visit," he states calmly enough. Anya looks interested.

"Oh? Then what kinds of places do you visit, then?"

Gleb is quiet for a moment as he thinks about home, Leningrad. He thinks about the buildings, the Neva, all those people. He thinks about white nights and dark winters, and he thinks about the apartment that did not truly feel like a home.

"There was this nice tea shop by Nevsky Prospekt," he says thoughtfully and glances at her. "I would have taken you there. When you got spooked."

"What makes it so nice?" she asks. Anya leans a little closer to him. He's had enough alcohol to not completely spook at her proximity, but not nearly enough to  _ not _ notice her breath tickling on his skin.

"The tea," he says and takes in a breath. Damn. He can smell her perfume too clearly. She smells so nice, like lemon and honey. Like his favorite tea at the shop. "And the honey cakes. The honey cakes they make are the best I've ever had. You'd love them, Anya," he babbles.

Anya blinks slowly and bends her head. Oh no. She's getting closer to him. Gleb's heart is racing. He can already feel her body heat, and she's not even touching him. Her breath is tickling on his skin.

This is simultaneously the worst and the best Gleb has ever felt.

One of the phrases Paulina forced her to repeat ten times returns to his head suddenly.

"Though the cakes are not nearly as sweet as you are," he says slowly and feels proud of having been so clever.

Anya laughs at him. His smile fades a little, but she laughs happily and then leans on her hand and looks at him with a smirk.

"You must have been a tea leaf in your previous life," he says as a sudden idea strikes him. Anya raises her eyebrows at him.

"What?" she laughs.

"You are so pre-tea," he says with a goofy grin.

Anya looks at him for two seconds, but then she laughs. It's not the dainty laugh of someone who is trying to be polite, but instead she laughs without a care in the world.

Gleb is left stunned by the easiness and carefreeness of her laughter, and then he is even more stunned as Anya's hand lands on his knee. He waits for a few moments, but she does not remove it.

Instead, she gets even closer to him, close enough to whisper into his ear.

"I'll tell you a secret, Gleb," she says and oh, how lovely it feels being called that by her with no honorifics, just familiarity. "I'm not actually too fond of this place myself."

He nods his head slowly. He's too shaken to even say anything. That doesn't seem to bother Anya, though.

"Would you walk me back to my hotel?" she asks and he very nearly chokes on his spit. "I don't really know Paris that well yet, and you'd keep me safe, wouldn't you?"

His eyes get softer as he holds her in his gaze.

"Of course I would," he says, having completely forgotten about the way she is holding his knee. He is reminded of it as she squeezes it, and again he has to swallow thickly and count to ten inside his head.

Anya downs the rest of her drink in one gulp and gets up smoothly. Gleb follows after her like a duckling begging for crumbs from passersby at a city pond.

She picks up her coat from the cloakroom and then they step outside. The night is cool enough to warrant a coat. It is not cool enough to warrant holding hands. Anya still slips her hand into the crook of his elbow. He stumbles and then he smiles at her as if he had just tripped on something.

He does not want to think how she would laugh at him if she realised just why he is such a mess.

"Have you seen the sights yet?" Anya asks as they walk along the Seine. She has a slightly dreamy smile on her lips as they step onto a particularly decorated and tasteless bridge. Her free hand touches the railing. It's not a long touch, but Gleb notes it because a look of longing passes over her face.

"I just arrived this afternoon," he says. Anya looks surprised.

"This afternoon?"

He nods in confirmation.

"Perhaps we could go sightseeing together, then," Anya says with a smile.

Gleb is relieved that he doesn't have to invent a date idea himself. He could kiss Anya for coming up with that.

He blushes violently as the thought passes his mind, and then he studies the streets for any hidden patterns in the stones. He looks up at some point.

"Oh," he says. Anya looks at him, and they stop.

"What is it?" she says. Gleb looks at her and gives her an easy smile.

"Our hotels are pretty close to one another, it seems," he says easily and nods towards the lackluster facade of his hotel.

Anya looks at it thoughtfully.

"Would you like to come have tea with me?" he asks, a little hopeful. Anya blinks in surprise. She is staring at him very intently.

"At your hotel?" she confirms. He laughs a little.

"Where else?" he asks. "I brought my favourite blend from Leningrad."

She laughs quietly at that.

"Sure," she murmurs. "Perhaps we can have some tea together."

They turn to the smaller alley and eventually reach his hotel. Anya looks a bit doubtful as he opens the door for her and lets her step inside first, but the foyer is nowhere as drab as the facade. It's comfortable inside, though a little shabby.

"Third floor," he murmurs in a low voice and very carefully does not look towards the old man who is sitting behind the desk. There is an unapproving tongue click, but he at least does not say anything.

They climb the stairs in comfortable silence. Gleb fumbles a little with the unfamiliar lock. Eventually, it clicks open, and they enter.

"Sit wherever you want to," he tells her with a smile. Anya smiles back, but it's a somewhat smaller smile.

Gleb steps towards the tea set he noted earlier that day and puts the water to boil. He opens his suitcase and takes out the small tin of tea leaves.

"I hope you like black tea," he says to fill in the silence. Anya apparently has decided not to sit until he sits down as well. Her clothes are rustling a little. Perhaps she's straightening out the hem of her skirt.

Gleb tried very hard not to notice how it climbed up over her knees as she climbed the stairs ahead of him.

"I don't really have a preference," Anya says. Her voice is a little muffled. She must be looking around the room, then.

He knows he must approach the topic eventually, so he might just as well bite the bullet already.

"Paris is no place for good and loyal Russian." He stirs the tea leaves in the pot. He only hears a non-committal hum behind him. Gleb's lips thin out a bit. "I actually came here to take you back home."

"Did you really?" Anya says. The words are said absent-mindedly as if Anya wasn't really listening to him at all. Gleb focuses even more intently on the tea.

His hands are shaking.

"Come back to Russia," he says. "Come back with me."

He takes out two cups and checks that they are clean inside before pouring tea into them. There are sugar cubes. After a moment of hesitation, he puts in sugar to both of their teas and then stirs the liquid until all granules disappear.

Gleb takes in a calming breath and picks up the cups. He turns around, the two cups in his hands, and he nearly drops the precious tea. Anya stands in front of him, comfortable and confident  _ without her dress on _ .

He nearly has a heart-attack then and there.

"You really can be a little dense," Anya says as she takes the first step towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Next chapter will raise the rating of this fic up to explicit. In case you want to keep your eyes pure, you won't miss any actual plot if you skip chapter 5 and head straight over to chapter 6.


	5. In Which a Communist is Seduced to the Dark Side by Lingerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever spend multiple hours googling for information about men's undewear in 1927 Soviet Russia to get one little detail right. Cause I certainly did.
> 
> In this chapter, there be the hornies! If you don't care for that, you can skip this and read chapter 6. The only thing you lose will be some smut and a few foreshadowing things.

Slowly, as if she was afraid of frightening him, Anya walks across the room. Gleb is frozen in his place. He stands mutely as Anya picks the two cups of tea from his hands and puts them back onto the worn wooden table.

Gleb cannot stop staring at that slip she is wearing, how it maddeningly hides her body. The lace shows just the barest hint of skin, and the blushy color of it makes all the blood rush off his head.

Gleb has never seen women's underwear being worn by someone, but he knows this is not what they wear in Russia. The colour is completely new to him. There is very little practical in Anya's underwear, but he cannot deny how nice lace and a little decoration can be.

He's starting to appreciate capitalism.

He is most definitely hyperventilating.

"Would you help me put my hair down?" Anya asks with a kind smile. Gleb opens his mouth.

"You're undressed," he manages to say in a strangled voice as his eyes yet again slip away from her face. His face is burning hot. He is having great trouble trying to remember anything.

He lets out a small choked noise as she gets even closer to him and the slip moves just the tiniest bit and reveals impossibly pale skin.

"Would you like to help with that, or shall I put on a show?" she asks as she lays a hand on his elbow and caresses it. The temptation is enough to make him feel like he has died and ascended straight into heaven.

He cannot take his eyes off the soft lace edge of her slip.

"I — your dress — I —  _ Anya _ —"

She gently pushes him towards the bed. He sits down dumbly and has to close his eyes from the sight in front of him. He can hear Anya letting out a small chuckle.

The mattress dips as she sits down next to him. Gleb's brain nearly explodes from the thought that she is on the same bed as he is.

He opens his eyes very slowly and looks at her. She looks slightly amused.

Her hand claims his knee just as easily as it claimed it at the club.

"Don't be shy, Gleb," she tells him. He swallows thickly. With great hesitation, he slowly brings his hands close to her face and then touches her cheek. She nods the tiniest bit and bends her neck.

It brings her bosom closer to him. Gleb tries not to look down too much as his fingers finally reach her hair.

She's hidden the pins well, and he pulls them out one at a time. His mouth opens as her hair flows freely down, slightly curled but still as long as it was in Leningrad. Gleb cannot help himself. He runs his fingers through her hair and shivers.

It's better than he dreamed. She looks at him curiously as he smooths out the knots in her hair. He wishes he had a proper brush. He wishes he could keep running his fingers through her hair for all of eternity.

She is close enough that her bosom is now pressed against his chest. He blinks in a daze.

"Oh," he murmurs. "Is it impolite to be this dressed compared to you?"

She laughs at that. He's never felt someone laughing against his chest. He's not at all prepared for how she leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth, and then, she is kissing him softly.

He's not quite sure what he's doing. His hands do not know what to do, so they remain on her cheeks, holding her near to him, afraid of touching anywhere else. Her lips move softly. They're chapped, but he likes the drag.

Her mouth opens, and she nibbles on his bottom lip. He lets out a small groan and pulls away. She lets go of him with a satisfied smirk before licking her lips.

He looks at her in a daze. She raises an eyebrow at him, and then her hands reach for the buttons of his suit jacket.

"Such a shame to get rid of this," she murmurs and looks him straight in the eye.

Gleb had never thought the simple act of removing a jacket could be quite so enticing, but it is. She opens the buttons and then slides her hands up his shoulders. She peels him open and leaves him confused and feeling more naked than she is even though he still has a vest and a shirt on and her skin is showing through the lovely sheer fabric of her slip.

Gleb is vaguely aware of the fact that he is probably harder than he has been in his entire life. He's also vaguely aware that he feels more intoxicated than he should be after just one drink.

Anya isn't satisfied with just removing his coat. No, her hands return to the buttons that cross his front and start working on the waistcoat. Gleb follows mutely as it is taken off slowly and languidly, and his breath hitches in his throat as Anya slides the tie across it slowly.

He tries to be brave, and slowly, he moves his hands to hers. She looks quite satisfied as they slowly travel up her arms and feel the contours of her body.

Gleb cannot remember the last time he was so bare in front of another person. It must have been during the war, but now the only war he faces is with his mind and his hands. He wants to touch her all over, he wants to caress her and kiss her and bury his face against her neck, but he doesn't know where to start.

"You're thinking too much," Anya tells him slowly and comes closer. Her breath is tickling his neck. Instinctually, he holds her closer to him.

The bliss of her pressing her lips against his neck is almost too much for poor Gleb. He lets out a soft breath and then he is kissing her cheek, burying his nose in her hair and finally smelling her skin and perfume like he has ached to. She lets out a satisfied little sound as his hands reach her thin shoulders.

Without even thinking about it, he runs his hands down her sides. She rewards him with a kiss.

Gleb caresses her for a long time like that. Anya's body presses tightly against his, and eventually, she even climbs to sit on his thigh. He nearly scoots off the bed before she tells him to stay still with a whisper and a kiss.

Her hands finally reach for the buttons of his shirt, and they start removing it with a hurry that makes him swallow thickly. He can imagine how her fingers would feel against his bare skin, and he jolts at the thought.

"Anya," he manages to say. She throws his shirt somewhere on the floor. Gleb glances that way and sees it has landed on top of her dress.

He doesn't have much time to think about that as Anya lets out a frustrated little sound when she realises he still has an undershirt on.

"You have too many clothes, Gleb Vaganov," she chides him with a growl.

"I can help," he says and tries to take off the undershirt, but his hands are shivering too badly. Anya looks at him for a moment.

"Comrade," she murmurs almost fondly as she pulls off his undershirt, "you're shaking."

The words he said to her back in Leningrad feel almost as good as her caresses or kisses. Gleb looks at her with big eyes that soften. He smiles at her and then, very carefully, he touches the hem of her slip.

She looks very encouraging as he looks into her eyes for permission. He shakes as he peels the slip upwards and reveals a pale stomach underneath it. She shivers as he gently pulls it over her head.

It takes a long time to recover from the sight in front of him. Anya is nearly bare. She has a bra, stockings, and bloomers on, and her skin has a healthy pink flush.

He is too afraid to touch her. Thankfully, she is nowhere near as bashful and very easily starts taking off his trousers. Almost automatically, Gleb moves enough so that she can throw them behind her back.

He only has his long johns on. Anya climbs back into his lap.

"Kiss me," she murmurs. He does as he's told.

Anya is so hot against his body. Her hands have no shame as they traverse along the curves of his muscles. She nibbles on his bottom lip, and slowly, he relaxes into the kiss.

If Gleb spent the rest of his life just kissing her, he would die a blissful man. Unfortunately, his body doesn't quite agree with that sentiment. His skin feels too tight and he wants to touch her, wants to kiss her harder, wants to feel her heat curling tightly around him.

She is already squeezing him tightly. Suddenly, she presses herself completely flat against him.

He nearly climaxes as her weight rubs against his hardness. She lets out a breathy laugh and does it again just to hear him groan against her mouth another time. She rides his thigh with abandon, and her kisses are hard enough to bruise his lips.

Gleb shakes violently as he tries to take back control of himself, but eventually, it's too much. He is just a man, and she is a beautiful woman in his lap thrusting against him with no shame. He is just a man, and he has dreamt of this so many times.

Anya stills and he can feel the stare that lands on his face. A blush is already rising onto his face. He bites his lip, mortified to be so weak in front of her.

Anya caresses his face softly. He slowly opens his eyes and looks at her, flushing even more.

"I'm so sorry." Damn. Even his voice sounds weak. He looks at her and swallows thickly as she presses tighter against him. He can feel her lips curling into a smile as they explore his neck slowly.

Gleb groans softly. He's no longer a teenager, but already he can feel his body perking up in interest.

"It really is alright, Gleb," she tells him gently. Her hips are moving again, slowly picking up the rhythm they had abandoned. She lets out small noises of satisfaction. "I'm glad to know you're enjoying this."

He hesitates until his hands go to her hips. He feels for the movement, and then, he starts helping her.

"You can always use your mouth or your hands if you aren't up to the task otherwise," she says in between moans that betray just how much she is affected by this slow rolling of her hips.

Gleb looks at her face in wonder. She wants him to kiss her?

"I really don't know what I'm doing," he admits. Anya groans as she thrusts harder against his thigh. He's overcome with the need to kiss her.

She seems pleased by that.

"I can tell you what to do," she informs him and kisses him again. Her hips still slowly. Gleb is still holding them. Slowly, wondering whether this is allowed, he runs his fingers down the length of her thighs. Her socks are smooth. He wishes he could feel the muscles underneath a little better.

She quirks an eyebrow at him as he searches her face for permission. Her hands come down to the clips of her garters and snap them open.

She leans back until she falls out of his lap and lies on the bed in front of him.

"Well?" she asks. "Aren't you going to undress me?"

He looks at her in a daze. His hands shake as they slowly roll the sock down her leg. Instinctually, he kisses her knee and her shin. She shivers as he looks up at her, his hands working on rolling that second sock off her.

She's nearly undressed. Gleb looks up at her in worry.

"Is this what you want?" he makes certain. Anya growls in frustration.

"Gleb Vaganov," she threatens him in a low voice, "if you don't take off my clothes and start kissing me all over, I will tie you to this bed and have my fun with you, your wishes be damned."

He slowly nods and gets up.

His fingers have never been as clumsy as they now are as he tries to remove her bra. Eventually, she takes pity on him and helps him.

Her bloomers are much easier to remove.

Gleb nearly blacks out from the visual of her laying on his bed, her hair spread, her mouth swollen from kisses, her body aching to be touched.

She's seemed to like him kissing her mouth, so that is where he starts. She feels so horribly small compared to him, and he wishes he wouldn't have to so awkwardly try to avoid crushing her with his weight, but she pulls him closer. Her hands have surprising strength in them. Her thighs wrap around his back, and he pants against her neck before running sloppy kisses down it.

He explores her body slowly, kisses her fingers and the old scars in her palms, runs his lips up her wrists to her elbows, buries his face in the crook of her neck and remains there until she urges him to move again. 

"Gleb, stop teasing me," she whines. He looks up at her. He never wants to stop kissing her or exploring her body, but she is writhing and whining.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks. She looks into his eyes.

"I want your fingers inside of me," she demands. His mouth opens in a voiceless breath. Her eyes are dark and demanding.

Gleb can follow orders very well when he puts his mind into it, and this is something he is focused on with the intensity of his whole being. With great hesitation, he parts her legs with his hands. She looks eagerly at him as he frowns and runs his fingers along her. Anya lets out a soft breath.

He is clumsy, but he is looking at her intently, listening to the noises she makes for clues. At one point, her hand comes down to meet his and guides him.

Gleb has never seen someone so completely open to his touch. He has never caused another person this kind of pleasure, and it's almost addicting to see Anya use his hand as she wants it.

He rubs the nub of flesh between her legs and she mewls. He cannot quite resist kissing her at that point. Anya's hand guides him with lessening intensity. She is panting into his mouth. He does not even notice the ache in his wrist as she shivers and then curls tightly against his hand with such lovely noises.

Gleb kisses her until she no longer feels like uncontrollable sobs are wrecking through her body, and then he looks at her. Slowly, his hand stills.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of her. Anya lets out a content sigh. She looks up at him with a lazy smile. He wishes he could pause time in this moment, wishes they could forever remain like this. Gently, he curls himself around her and kisses her shoulder, the one with a raised scar.

There will be time to explore her skin later in much more detail, but right now he just wishes to hold her for a moment.

Even if his body whispers of other things.

"Are you satisfied?" he asks shyly. Anya glances at him.

"Not remotely," she murmurs. His heart lurches uncomfortably. "You could keep trying, though."

He smiles and kisses her again.

"And what would you like me to do, Anya?" he asks her. She is still slightly drowsy after being brought to completion, but already her eyes sparkle with the possibilities. He wishes he knew more so that he could make her happy. He wishes he knew more, but he supposes following her lead will just have to be enough.

"Right now, I'd love to taste your tea," she says with a coy smile. Gleb caresses her cheek softly. It's such a shame to get up and step across the room to the two cups, but he is soon with her again.

Her delicate hand wraps around the cup. He sits against the wall, and she curls up against him. He shivers a little and then he kisses the crown of her head.

There is a slight dint hidden underneath her heavy crown of hair. He wonders where it must have come from, but it's more of a passing thought than anything else. His body is much too tense for any serious thoughts.

He takes a sip of the tea and then he cannot help but laugh.

"What is it?" Anya asks him curiously. He looks at her with a soft smile.

"You made me forget all about the tea," he says. "It's gotten cold."

She laughs at that and sips her own cup of cold tea.

"Oh, I am such a horrible criminal," she teases him, "to even have made the Deputy Commissioner forget all about his hot cup of tea."

Her eyes are sparkling again.

"Perhaps," Anya murmurs against his skin, "perhaps I should continue my wicked criminal tendencies."

She downs the rest of the tea with one gulp, tosses the cup hastily onto the night table, and lets her hand run down his front.

Finally, finally she helps him out of the long johns and he is as naked before her as she is before him. He's blushing vividly. Anya's eyes roam his body, and her hand rests on his stomach, so close yet so far from where he wants it.

Deftly, she picks his half-empty cup of tea out of his hands, and then she climbs into his lap. Gleb tries to control his breathing. She runs her fingers down his chest, and he swallows. His fingers find her legs, her hips, her narrow waist.

Without any warning, she grasps his manhood, rises onto her knees, and then she sinks down on his length.

Gleb groans and squeezes her waist. She lets out a low laugh as he looks up to her face, lost in her. Her hair frames her face as it cascades down her body and reaches for him. Her lips are slightly open as she moves, and his continued noises make them curl into a smile. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders, and she moves in a tantalisingly slow rhythm.

He does his best not to embarass himself again, biting his cheek and controlling his breathing. His mouth searches for her body and accepts any contact it gets. One of his hands runs up and down her body while the other helps her move so deliciously against him.

It doesn't take long until he feels her tensing up in the same way again, and he squeezes with all his might, desperate to let her finish.

She rides him and her hands squeeze the muscles in his shoulders, and then, they are both lost in her climax.

Gleb cannot stop looking at her. His eyes do not stray even for a single moment. He wants to remember what Anya looks like in this moment, wants to seal this image forever in his heart.

Slowly, she comes back to this world. She gives him a smile and then a kiss that has lost all its hurry. He grows soft in her embrace. Eventually, she comes out of his lap. He misses her weight and warmth immediately even though they curl up together on the bed.

They do not speak. He simply holds her in his arms and softly strokes her skin. She breathes slower and slower.

Eventually, they crawl underneath the covers. He still holds her tight. City lights stream through the window, but even that is faint. The night is growing quiet all around them.

Gleb kisses her cheek and noses her hair. In answer, her thumb caresses his bicep for a moment.

She falls asleep before he does, content and soft in his arms. Gleb smiles and just looks at her and wishes this would never end.

He presses his eyes closed and is comforted by her weight on top of him.


	6. In Which We Return to the Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello to you who wanted to skip the hornies! As the title says, we have now returned to the plot. There are allusions to the hornies, but it's nothing explicit here.

He wakes to something shifting on top of his chest. Purely out of reflex, he squeezes the thin body tighter against him.

Anya shivers in fear and lets out another small noise. Gleb is immediately awake.

"Anya?" he whispers delicately and tries to rub her shoulder. She flinches from his touch and cries out, deep in the depths of her night terror.

"Papa!" she cries out and wakes with a sob.

Gleb squeezes her tightly into himself and sits there helplessly as she cries. He only knows how to rub circles into her back. He only knows how to pull the covers tighter around her to stop her from shivering.

"It's alright," he murmurs. "There's nothing to be afraid of anymore. You're safe with me here."

"The voices," she blubbers, "they keep coming back."

He doesn't know what to say to that. He doubts anyone would, but he does know how to hold someone when they are crying. He knows how to dry someone's tears, knows how to talk gently, knows how to rub circles into their back so that they remember where they are.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, simply holds her. Eventually, her breathing evens out.

"Would you like your clothes?" he asks her gently. She looks up at him. There are black spots around her eyes from her cosmetics. He gets up slowly and gets her underwear back to her, and then he cleans her face with a handkerchief.

Anya gives him a confused look as he pulls his pyjamas on, and then she comes to him again. He wraps his arms around her.

She's completely cocooned in the blanket. Gleb waits for her to decide what she needs.

"What was the nightmare about?" he eventually asks her. She sniffles. He gives the handkerchief to her. Anya blows her nose loudly and then seems to curl into herself.

"I don't really remember," she murmurs weakly.

"Something in it still shook you," he says as kindly as he can. She laughs wetly and then hiccups. He looks at her. There's not much light in the room. Even Paris goes to sleep at some point. Even Paris can be dark.

She seems to hesitate, but eventually she takes in a shaky breath.

"They said I was found by the side of a road," she tells him quietly. He listens and gives her an encouraging little smile. It seems to make her even more miserable. "I woke up in a hospital. I couldn't remember anything, not even my name."

He blinks in surprise.

"Do you still wish for me to call you Anya?" he asks her gently. She bites her lip.

"I wish I knew what my name used to be," she tells him in a broken voice. Gleb immediately tightens his hold on her. She puts her head against his chest and remains there for a long while as he rubs circles into her back.

"Do you know what happened?" he asks. There is a weight settling into his body.

"I just remember flashes of fire and the echo of screams," she says in a shaky voice.

Gleb's grip on her tightens a little more.

"May I see?" he asks. Anya looks up at him. She seems uncertain. Something in him makes her peel the blanket off of her. Something in his eyes makes her trust him.

Slowly, she guides his hands to injuries he noted earlier in the night but did not think about too deeply in the throes of passion. He gently touches her temple and the stretched skin that has scarred. He can understand why she would comb her hair over the injury.

His fingers find the dint in her skull. It feels like a bullet must have grazed her skull, but that wound has healed. Gleb looks at her eyes that are nearly black in the darkness. She looks fragile, so worried, but her hands guide his hands again.

There is another round wound underneath her collarbone, another bullet hole. Gleb kisses it softly, and then he looks at the cut in her shoulder, the one he kissed already earlier in the night.

There are wounds in her palms. He feels for them with the tips of his fingers. It reminds him of those crucified Christs his mother used to pray under.

"I don't know how you're still alive, but I am glad for it," he tells her. She looks down and bites her lip. "The horrors you have seen… it wasn't right. You shouldn't have had to witness something like that."

Anya curls up against him again. He buries his nose in her hair.

"The only thing I could remember was that someone was in Paris, waiting for me," she tells him.

Gleb listens to that. His heart lurches uncomfortably.

"So I walked from that hospital in Yekaterinburg, first to Perm and then to Kirov, and I walked until I reached St. Petersburg," she says in a tired voice. She doesn't feel the horror that grows within him. She is already half asleep. "And then I came here. I know someone has been waiting for me here. I know it, Gleb."

Her breathing evens out and she is asleep. In his horror, he can only look at that too thin face and its features.

He thinks about that moment in his office, the moment he looked deep into her eyes and saw the Romanov blue in them. He thinks about that moment in his office when he was convinced that the youngest daughter had returned back from the dead to make him pay for his father's sins. Now he is in a hotel room in Paris, and the same woman is sleeping in his arms. He helplessly lays her onto the bed proper and slowly moves away. Gleb covers his mouth with a hand and tries to calm himself down.

It cannot be. It must be a coincidence. He does not even know when Anya woke up in a hospital in Yekaterinburg, and besides, he knows that none of the Romanovs could have survived.

He heard the gunshots and the cries. All of Yekaterinburg heard them. There is no chance that anyone could have survived.

His eyes strain towards Anya. She sleeps so peacefully, completely unaware of the panic that bubbles in him.

She doesn't know how he struggles with himself. She doesn't know how he debates taking out his gun and forcing her to tell the truth to him. She doesn't know how his commanders would tell him to pull the trigger and get rid of the problem before it can arise.

He doesn't.

Gleb sits by the window until he manages to convince himself that it is just coincidence, that it cannot be the truth, and then, he goes back to bed and hugs her and shares a pillow with her.

A morsel of doubt remains in the pit of his stomach.

Gleb has never been more glad to wake with his arm completely numb and his shoulder aching. He blinks groggily, and then he smiles when he sees that long, red blonde hair a few inches from his face.

He's never been a particularly stealthy man. It takes a while to get his arm free from underneath Anya. It's not completely smooth. She frowns a little, but eventually she curls back asleep.

Gleb dresses quietly and picks up her clothes from the floor. He sets them ready for her before he goes to wash and shave, and when he returns, she hasn't moved even a little. He smiles fondly. It's nice to see that she can also have nice dreams instead of just nightmares.

Brewing tea in Paris is just like brewing tea in Leningrad, but Gleb doesn't think he'll ever approach the task in the same way again. To think that his life could be so different after asking someone for _tea_.

The blend tastes sweeter than it should as he quietly sips on it and looks at Anya and admires the curve of her neck, the strength of her arms, the relaxation of her face.

He's on his second cup when Anya finally stirs. She blinks her eyes open. Gleb quickly looks away. It feels somehow wrong to be caught looking at her like this.

"I made tea, if you'd like some," he says in a soft voice. She looks at him and gets up, pulling her hair behind her shoulders. It looks soft and tangled. Gleb wonders if she'll allow him to help untangle it.

Anya looks at him for a long while. He smiles and brings the cup over to her, and she accepts it with a frown on her face.

"You're acting nice," she says, still with that frown. He looks back at her in confusion.

"Shouldn't I?" he asks. Is there some etiquette for these kinds of mornings that he wasn't informed of? Was he supposed to ask her leave once their business was concluded?

He doesn't like that thought. He liked her weight on him, even if his arm is still half useless and stings worse than salt in a fresh wound.

"Not all men would," she notes eventually and takes a sip of her tea. She looks surprised to taste it.

"Do you like it?" he asks with an anxious smile. She nods slowly. Gleb looks down on his own cup. "I'm sorry I don't have anything else to offer."

"It really is fine," Anya says. Gleb looks up to her. She's blinking too quickly, and there are tears in her eyes. Is it still the nightmare bothering her? Gleb studies her face with nervousness that makes his stomach roll. He wishes he could wash away the memory of that nightmare. Anya deserves comfort. She deserves restful sleep and lazy mornings with no hurry in the world.

They sip on their tea in peace and quiet. Eventually, there's no more tea and nothing to hold her there. Gleb watches mutely as she gets up, and then she stops suddenly as she stares at her clothes on the chair.

"Did you pick them up for me?" she asks in a voice he doesn't quite understand. He hums, afraid of what he might say.

Anya pulls the dress easily over her head. It's a shame to be denied the joy of seeing her so intimately, but he knows they cannot stay in that hotel room for all eternity. They need breakfast, for one.

With her clothes on, she looks almost decent, but the impression of last night remains in her long hair. Gleb looks at her, and finally, she catches him staring. Anya comes to him, looks at him very carefully, and then she cocks her head.

"Would you like me to brush your hair?" he asks as if it didn't matter, but a small hope wavers in his voice. 

She settles in front of him. He shivers as he starts untangling her hair with his own comb. She sits quietly like a statue, and he lets his fingers run through her hair until it is smooth and shiny.

Her hands work quickly as they braid her hair into the same updo she wore in Leningrad. Gleb cannot quite stop himself from kissing the nape of her neck as it is revealed to him, but he does pin her hair up dutifully.

He thinks he likes this version of her the best. The braid frames her face beautifully, and the dress brings out the red of it. Now that he knows what lies underneath the orange fabric, he likes it much more. She looks more at ease with him here in Paris, less worried.

Anya gives his lips a soft little kiss. He runs his thumb along her cheek and kisses her again.

"When will I see you next?" he asks, wishing that she would answer breakfast. Anya looks at him with a small, fond smile. Gleb's heart nearly bursts as he imagines seeing that smile for every day for the rest of his life. They could get a nice apartment in Leningrad. He'd help to get her a job somewhere warm, and he'd leave work every day on time and come home to her, and he'd get to curl around her during the nights and kiss her and touch her, and in the mornings he'd get to brush her hair for her.

"Tomorrow?" she suggests. He smiles. "See me on the Pont Alexandre III at one?"

He kisses the side of her mouth again.

"I'll be there," he promises.

Gleb never quite understood why some people consider separating from their lovers a pain, but now his hands itch uncomfortably with the need to keep Anya close. Their one last kiss turns into ten smaller kisses that linger, but eventually, she takes a step away from him. There is a smile on her face.

She leaves him alone in the room. Gleb presses his forehead against the door and listens to her disappearing footsteps, and then he rushes over to the window. He stands there, looking anxiously at the street.

Anya steps out into the sunshine and takes his breath away even so far apart. Gleb follows her path from the window until she disappears into the hustle and bustle of Paris, and then he sits down on his bed.

It's a bad decision. The covers smell of her, and for a moment he is drawn back into memories of last night, of lingering kisses and caresses and her heavy breathing. He closes his eyes and smiles.

Eventually, even he must start his day. He puts on his suit jacket and heads downstairs. Approximately two steps before reaching the door, he sees the telephone from the corner of his eye.

They would most likely want to hear about him in Leningrad. Gleb knows that they would want to hear about last night and that he met with Anya, so with a little sigh he gives the old man behind the front desk another note and selects the number.

It does not take long for someone to answer.

"Ilya Mishkin," the man answers the telephone curtly.

"Hello again," Gleb says to his receiver. He can already hear Ilya calling out for Olga to get closer, and then there is lots of shuffling at the other end of the line.

"Gleb!" Jelena's voice carries through. "How's Paris?"

Have they all been at the office, ready for him to phone in? Gleb frowns a little and checks the time. He nearly drops the receiver when he realises just how close to noon it already is.

"Oh, you know," he tries to say as lightly as he can. "Busy. A cesspool of capitalism."

Maria's cackling comes through louder than it should have any right to.

"Well," Ilya speaks over the maniacal laughter, "did you see her last night?"

Gleb cannot quite stop the soft smile rising to his face.

"Yes, I saw her last night," he tells them. The mission is going much smoother than they expected, at least judging from the stunned silence.

Gleb actually checks that the connection hasn't broken up. He wouldn't put it past the telephones of Leningrad to suddenly stop working.

"Did everything go well last night?" Olga asks. "You did wear the suit, right?"

"I did wear it," Gleb assures Olga. "You were right about Parisian fashions. I wouldn't have blended in wearing my usual clothes."

There's an expectant silence at the other end of the line. Gleb nervously licks his lips.

"Last night we talked," he says slowly. "We went for a walk, and I offered her some tea."

"When are you seeing her next?" Jelena asks sharply.

"Did you kiss her?" Maria asks right after that.

Gleb blushes violently and sputters horrifically. He should have known he'd be subjecting himself to an outright interrogation, calling them so soon again, but he didn't think this through beforehand. He just thought he'd let them know how the mission was going and then go back to his business.

He should have remembered what horrible gossips Maria and Jelena are.

"Gleb Vaganov, you dog!" Maria is cackling again. Gleb has never been this mortified in his life.

"Stop laughing!" he hisses into the receiver. "I am not telling you what I did with her last night!"

This time, there is sputtering in the Leningrad end of the phone call. Maria is howling with laughter and Jelena is yelling rapid Russian, questions so invasive that Gleb wants to curl up and die. Olga and Ilya's stunned silence should feel offensive, but Gleb is too busy praying for God to exist and strike him down at this very moment to even notice it.

There is nothing else to do but slam the receiver down. Cold sweat is gluing his shirt into his back. Gleb stares at the telephone, breathing as if he had run half across Leningrad after that skinnier conman.

The telephone has the audacity to start ringing. Gleb's eyes widen as he stares at it, and then he flees the hotel into the streets of Paris.

The old man yells something after him, but Gleb Vaganov is on a mission: avoid his friends' invasive questions and teasing, and no hotel manager is going to stop him from doing just that.

He stalks the streets of Paris in a daze and eats in bistros, and only once the night is falling, he feels brave enough to return to the hotel. Even his friends wouldn't spend the whole day on the phone, trying to catch him to continue their ribbing.

The old man behind the desk looks up sharply as he enters.

"They asked to give you a message," the old man grumbles in his strange French. Gleb doesn't have much time to think about the accent as he accepts the folded piece of paper with a blank face before rushing upstairs. He does not want to stay there for a conversation. He does not want to answer the old man's questions about Anya and what happened at his hotel last night.

He reads the message only once he is safe in his room.

_Your friends wanted to congratulate you. They had many questions they want answers for. The women insist you wear your grey suit the next time you meet the girl._

The message is written in Russian. Gleb stares at the paper and buries his face in his hands.

The hotel manager speaks _Russian_. He knew what he spoke with his friends on the phone to Leningrad. He probably listened in on what he said. Gleb desperately tries to remember just what he said when he thought he couldn't be understood.

Gleb buries his face into a pillow, thinking that screaming would be nice, but then he smells Anya on it, and a goofy smile rises onto his face.

He is screwed.


	7. In Which Gleb Has a Nice Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, I have had a Week (and perhaps even a Month). It may take a while before chapter 8 gets published. I've written it and most of chapter 9 already, but life has entered the building, kicked me in the teeth, and now it's busy trying to find my kidneys with its steel-cap boots.
> 
> In other news, go watch Bourne's Sleeping Beauty. Shoutout to Friday night (aka too-fucking-early-on-a-Saturday) stream folks for joining our three-person fandom.

He gets to the bridge twenty minutes before the agreed upon time. Gleb is nervous, perhaps more nervous than he has been in his entire life, and as he waits, he fidgets and shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

Why is he this nervous now? He's already met Anya, has already kissed her and — Gleb cuts the thought at that. Best not think about  _ that _ in public.

There is no reason to be this nervous, but he is. There is no reason to be worried about whether today will go well. If she liked him enough to agree for another meeting, he must have done something right.

_ Still _ , he thinks as he tries to set his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. He checks the time from his watch. Eight minutes left, and there is a chance that she may not even show up on time.

Gleb gives in to the urge to lean on the bannister. There's not much else to do, so he looks around himself for a moment. The bridge is quite gaudy. He's never quite understood just why a bridge would need to be this decorated. The main purpose is to cross a river, so who in their right mind needs all these statues?

The Seine flows differently than the Neva. Two such important rivers, yet only one of them feels right to him. Gleb wonders whether spring has arrived in Leningrad yet. It is here in Paris, but has it reached home yet?

"Hello," a cheerful voice says close to him. A smile automatically rises to his face, and he straightens out. Anya is wearing a nice, sensible dress with a coat that looks new. Her hair is once again pinned into that short style. This time, it does not bring longing into his heart, but he still wishes she wouldn't hide it.

"You look nice," he says as he takes her hands in greeting. For a moment he panics where to kiss her, but eventually, she leans in a little closer.

He gets to kiss her cheek, and no one even looks at them twice.

There may be some positives to Paris after all.

Her hand remains in his hand. Anya squeezes it with a smile that makes him think about warm summer days. A rude Frenchman slams into him and makes him stumble into her, and he flushes as his hand automatically rises up to her waist. He hurries to step away, and she laughs.

"Shall we?" she asks easily enough and hooks her arm into the crook of his elbow. She clearly has a destination in mind as they start walking.

"How have you been?" he asks and then bites his tongue. It's been barely a day since he last saw her. It's a silly question to ask.

Anya doesn't seem to notice anything strange in it.

"Warm," she answers with a teasing smile. "Though the tea at my hotel leaves a lot to wish for."

He can't help blushing at that. Their eyes meet. It feels like suddenly all those hurried Parisians disappear, and it's just the two of them on the bridge. Anya's eyes are bluer than ever before as she looks at him.

"Well, you cannot expect the French to have good tea," he manages to sputter back. Anya's smile becomes slightly softer at the edges.

Gleb wants to push her against a pillar of the bridge and just kiss her in broad daylight. The sensible part of his brain tells him it's a bad idea. The other part that spent the previous night mushing his face deeper into the pillow in hopes of smelling her perfume again thinks it's the best idea he has ever had.

The sensible part wins, but only because there is a familiar face that Gleb recognises from the train. He very quickly angles his body towards Anya and turns to her in a desperate attempt to avoid being noticed.

Anya looks frightened for a moment, but then she catches whose attention Gleb is trying to flee. She bites her lip.

"What was it you said?" she asks him, laughter making her voice lighter. "Rude Frenchmen, ogling French girls, and old women who talk incessantly?"

Gleb grimaces.

"You'd know my pain if you'd sat with them in the same cabin and listened to them for all those hours," he murmurs. The two older ladies have passed by finally with their dogs. The animals look just as pampered and haughty as he imagined based on the women's conversation.

"Poor you," Anya says in mock sympathy. Gleb shakes his head.

"They still were better than what happened in the dining car," he murmurs in a sigh of relief. The women did not notice him.

Gleb does not want to imagine the horror of having to talk with them  _ again _ .

When he next looks at Anya, there is an impish shine in her eyes. It reminds him a bit of the look Jelena and Maria sometimes got, and that raises his hackles. His survival instinct tells him to get his arm far away from this woman. It also tells him to retreat far, far away, even if he has to take a dive into the river. Anything at all to get away from  _ that  _ sign of danger.

"What was in the dining car?" Anya asks. She presses closer to him. Gleb swallows thickly. "The ogling French girls or the rude Frenchmen?"

"The girls," he manages to say in a weak voice. Anya is raising her eyebrows. Damn. She wants to know all the details.

This is just like being interrogated by Jelena. Well. This is still preferable, but only because it is Anya. Jelena he would run away from and abandon all he has ever known just to keep himself safe. With Anya, he might actually stay and blabber all his secrets to her.

Now that he thinks about it in more detail, if she wanted to, she could interrogate him any day.

He clears his throat and tries to not let her notice the tracks his thoughts are heading.

"There was this girl," he says in a clipped voice. "I was trying to have lunch and tea, and she sat at my table."

"Was she being nice?" Anya asks with laughter in her eyes.

"She was being very upfront," Gleb says. "She used my first name."

Anya laughs at that.

"The French do that, yes," she notes easily enough. Her eyes pass over his form. "Were you wearing this suit?"

"How did you know?" he asks in surprise. A smile flutters on her lips.

"Just a lucky guess," she tells him.

They walk along the Seine like so many other couples. Street artists are painting portraits of various people. Gleb wonders if Anya would care to be immortalised like that. He certainly never wants to forget these days.

Perhaps he'll get a picture of her and keep it on his bedside table one day.

They walk languidly, and ahead of them, the Eiffel tower rises high above the city.

"Will we go up there?" he asks her and nods towards the tower. Anya bites her lip. She looks nervous suddenly.

"I'm not the biggest fan of heights," she tells him in a low voice. He squeezes her hand comfortingly.

"I think it's enough to look at it from afar, yes?" he tells her. "We don't have to get up if you don't want to."

"The view must be amazing from up there," she sighs as she looks at the tower. There is a conflicted look upon her face. Gleb wonders if this is some sort of a test. Should he nudge her on? Should he tell her that he wants to go there, and drag her along?

His stomach twists at the idea of bringing discomfort to Anya.

"I wonder if there are pictures of the view in a museum somewhere," he says idly. It would be a nice way to let her see it without bringing her discomfort.

She looks up at him. There is a smile growing in her eyes.

"I didn't take you for a friend of the arts," she says softly. He shrugs.

"I'm not, usually," he says. "I can enjoy a good concert or beautiful dancing, but I've never quite liked paintings or sculpture."

"Why not?" Anya asks curiously. He snorts.

"Because most of it is gaudy and decadent," he tells her, glancing around. "See that house?"

"The one with the red arches?"

"Why does it need to be so decorated?" he asks. "It's a building. It doesn't need all those curls in the balcony railings or pretending to be nicer than it is. It is a building. It's supposed to be livable."

Anya giggles.

"I think it's nice," she tells him and squeezes his hand. "It's not too decorated. It's made to look nice in addition to being useful. Things can also be beautiful."

"I can certainly admit it's not the worst offender," he murmurs quietly. "But I don't see the point in having such overt decorations when there are places where those resources could be put to much better use."

He thinks about Yekaterinburg and his childhood home. They lived comfortably enough. Their house was charming in its own way, and there was no gilding or marble needed for that. Contrasted to the decadence of what Leningrad used to be like when it still was the Tsar's St. Petersburg, it was perfect in its simplicity and familiarity.

"They're like you, in that sense," he murmurs. Anya blinks in surprise.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"They look much nicer when the excess is removed," he says. "When there's just the real thing left behind."

She blushes and laughs. Their eyes meet.

Gleb isn't quite too thrown off by that.

* * *

They end up having lunch in a bistro. Their waitress brings them enough wine to make Gleb even more prone to blushing, and he and Anya talk and talk and talk. They walk about their favourite places in Leningrad, of Anya's various jobs, of tea and food and Paris.

They do not talk about why they are in the city. They do not talk about going back to Russia, and for a moment Gleb completely forgets this is not just a lunch with a girl he wishes to marry.

They eat their lunch, and at first Gleb wonders if this is all their outing will be, but then, Anya takes his hand.

"Come on," she laughs as he stumbles a little. There is a laugh on her lips, and he allows her to drag him wherever she wishes to drag him.

It is a bit of a surprise to end up in a museum, though. He had hoped she might drag him somewhere more private. He had hoped, since they walked back towards the bridge and his hotel, but no, they passed even that.

Gleb is good at hiding his disappointment from her, or at least he thinks he is.

"Gleb Stepanovich Vaganov," she says with all the seriousity she can muster, "today we will look at art until we find something that takes your breath away."

Gleb glances at her face and doesn't say anything, but a slight blush rises to his cheeks. He's already found something to look at that takes his breath away, and all she'd need to do for that was to let her hair flow freely onto pale skin.

Thankfully, Anya doesn't notice his distracted thoughts. She's too busy pulling him along into the museum.

He barely pays any mind to the art pieces, too intent on listening to her chattering about them. She's far more lively, far more interesting than anything someone painted hundreds of years ago. She is much more beautiful, much more radiant than statues that have been worn with age and stand eternally still while each of her steps is almost like dancing.

"There must be something you'd enjoy," Anya says at one point, frustrated at his lack of appreciation. Gleb hums.

"Perhaps I'm not made to understand art," he tries to say delicately. Anya's eyes narrow. She looks around, and then, something catches her eye.

"Oh, now I know," she murmurs.

Gleb sighs as she pulls him along yet again, and then, his eyes stop at a painting that is nothing but a blur at first. They stop in front of it, and Gleb's eyes slowly study the colours. 

The blues are soft yet vibrant at the same time. The slight shifts towards purple and green make it seem hazy like a memory of a summer afternoon long ago. There are glimpses of white and yellow, black and even red. His eyes roam the surface of the painting. The texture catches the light and plays with it.

It's only a painting of some water lilies, yet Gleb stares at it like he would stare at Anya if he had the chance. His feet move slowly, his eyes roaming the painting. Each step reveals another flicker of colour he did not previously see, each step takes him across to the other parts of the painting.

He feels like he is walking in a dreamscape.

"Do you like it?" Anya asks, her entire body pressed against his arm and shoulder. Gleb stares at the painting in reverent bewilderment.

"I've never seen anything like it," he admits. He can't take his eyes off those blurry flows of colour. It's as if he was staring at water that was not water, at curls of light, at a child's imaginary world. It feels like nothing he has ever seen before.

There is nothing delicate, nothing fancy, just a painting of water lilies and a sense of peace and of lazy summer Sundays.

Anya squeezes his hand. That is enough for him to finally look away.

"It doesn't serve a purpose, does it?" she smiles at him. "It just is beautiful."

"It doesn't," he admits.

"Yet you're happier for having seen it?"

He realises he is smiling.

"I am," he tells her. "You were right. Things  _ can _ also be beautiful."

They stand there for a long enough time that a guard passes them by three times, each time clearing his throat a little louder. Eventually, Gleb takes a hint, and with a sigh, he walks away from the painting with Anya.

They step out into the afternoon sun. Gleb lets out a small, satisfied breath.

"The painting also has a purpose," he eventually says. Anya raises her eyebrows.

"What purpose could a painting have?" she teases him. He huffs out a laugh.

"Being beautiful," he murmurs and tucks a loose curl of hair behind her ear.

Her cheeks are a lovely pink as they walk hand in hand back towards the Seine.

It's almost too good a day to be true. He's with Anya, she hasn't run away in terror, and he hasn't made an absolute fool of himself.

He should have known that the moment the thought passed his mind, he cursed himself.

"Anya!" an angry voice calls behind them. Anya whips around. Instinctually, Gleb steps in front of her, ready to protect her from any danger that may approach.

His body tenses and a snarl rises onto his face as he sees the younger of the two conmen approaching them with a scowl on his face.


	8. In Which Someone Gets Thrown into the Seine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is still busy trying to find my kidneys, but I have booted up and am kicking it right back. Fight me, you miserable bitch.
> 
> Next chapter may be up in a fortnight or it may be up in a week. I have a schedule of trying to publish something every two weeks at minimum. (Or "schedule", since the grey lump of fuck some people call my brain doesn't understand what time or consistency actually are.)

"What are you doing with him?" the conman asks in a sharp hiss as he strides over to them. Gleb squares his shoulders and tries to stare the other man down into submission, but street rats never behave before they are forced to.

"What does it look like?" Anya asks. Gleb catches a glance of her upturned face from the corner of his eye. She is standing tall and proud, and something in her expression makes Gleb think about the regal paintings he saw being burned to erase all memories of the Romanovs.

People are staring at them. Gleb can feel his blood pressure spiking already. People are  _ staring _ , this conman is causing a  _ scene _ , and Anya  _ is not backing down _ .

"Do you even know who he is?" the conman demands Anya in a loud voice. Even more people stop and stare. 

Cold sweat glues Gleb's shirt to his back.

And his date was going so well.

"I think I know well enough who I associate with!" Anya answers in a louder voice. Damn, drat, shoot, this is going to be an actual fight.

Gleb decides his best chance may be to try and stop Anya from attracting any more attention.

"Anya," he pleads to her, "perhaps we should take this somewhere with fewer people?"

Anya gives him a mutinous glare, and instinctively, Gleb shrinks. He knows that glare, and he knows he better scoot away before he has an angry woman coming after him.

"Stay out of this, Gleb!" she tells him with a snarl.

Gleb swallows and takes three hurried steps away as Anya turns her attention towards the conman.

Gleb stares at the two with big eyes and wonders whether this mission was a smart idea after all.

"Oh, Gleb is it?" the conman mocks. "Well do you know what dear Gleb has done?"

"I know him well enough," Anya hisses. "I know who he is. I dare say I know him better than I know you, Dmitry."

"Oh, so now you decide to not be a frigid bitch anymore?" he screams back at her. "I think it's my business to care if you're fucking a Cheka officer!"

Gleb can't help it. Suddenly, cold fury washes over him. He stares at that rude conman and the hurt that flashes in Anya's eyes, and determination sets into him. It's just like back in the war. He doesn't think, simply acts. He strides over to the rude conman, grabs his collar, and drags him away from Anya and towards the river. The conman is trying to twist in his grasp and fight against him, but Gleb has the upper hand.

It's surprisingly easy to get him to the river and lift him against a lamp post.

"Apologise to her!" Gleb demands. Dmitry snarls and spits at his face.

There's a very satisfying splash as he falls into the river. Gleb only now remembers the people all around them as he hears hurried shouts for police and help. Dmitry comes back to the surface and looks up at Gleb with hatred in his eyes.

Anya grabs Gleb's hand and pulls him away, and then, they run.

Gleb's heart pounds as they make their way away. Anya is running like she is used to fleeing from police officers, and with a flash of guilt, Gleb realises she must be. She ran away from him, after all.

He's not even sure where they're going until they reach his hotel. Anya takes in big gulps of air, and Gleb is also breathing hard. He looks at her as she leans over. As if instinctually, she looks up.

"Are you alright?" he asks, worried about her. She frowns.

"You're the one who got spat on," she tells him as she finally straightens out. Anya pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and steps towards him. He leans closer to her as she cleans his cheek of the spit. He takes that time to study her face for any signs of distress.

He's a bit surprised to not see any.

"Come on, let's go upstairs," Anya murmurs and pulls him into the hotel.

The old man behind the desk looks up at the two of them with an incredibly unimpressed face.

"If police officers come here and ask, can you tell them to scatter?" Anya asks the old man sweetly in French. He snorts and turns another page in his newspaper.

"You're lucky to have such a nice man with you," the old man answers in Russian. "You're especially lucky that he is currently my best customer."

Anya apparently takes that to mean yes, and she quickly pulls Gleb upstairs. She's not afraid to stick her hand into his pocket to get the roomkey from there. Being so close to her is almost maddening.

Gleb manages to hold in his kiss until they're inside his hotel room. It's a quick peck to her lips, nothing more, but after such a maddening day of not being able to kiss her, it's a balm to his soul.

However, Anya is not satisfied with just a simple kiss. She presses him against the wall and ravishes his mouth.

Gleb has zero complaints about that.

It's a while before they ultimately pull apart. Anya breathes hard, and he gently wraps her into a hug against his chest. She's shaking, and he's not sure what exactly is the cause of that.

"Do they always treat you like that?" he asks, suddenly worried. "Is he always like that?"

"Dima's not like that usually," she says in a small voice. Gleb rubs her back and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "He's never said anything like that before."

"And he shouldn't have said it now, either," Gleb murmurs. He's having a hard time understanding his own reaction. He's usually much more civil, but the moment that conman said such horrible things to Anya, Gleb just wanted to make things right.

Pushing him into the river may have been a bit of an overreaction.

He says the thought aloud.

"It really wasn't," Anya says and pulls away. She's discreetly rubbing at her eyes. Gleb is quick to get his own handkerchief out and offer it to her. She gives him a slightly watery smile as she dabs her eyes dry.

Gleb gently caresses her cheek. Their eyes meet.

"Really," she tries to tell him with a brave smile, "he was practically asking for it what with telling me to throw myself into the Neva."

Gleb's face falls. He is gripped by the intense need to go back outside, find that damned conman, and throw him into the Seine all over again. Preferably after punching him first.

She wraps him in a hug.

"Can we just forget what happened?" she asks in a small voice.

He melts.

"Of course," he promises her softly.

Anya sits down on his bed and Gleb starts making tea. She accepts a cup easily enough, and then they sit in silence, sip on tea, and have some of the bread rolls he got in the hopes he'd get to share them with her. It's nothing like he thought it would be like, but somehow, this feels even more intimate than kissing her.

"I'm exhausted," she eventually admits. Gleb gives her a smile.

"Why don't you sleep for a while?" he suggests. Anya looks up in surprise.

"Sleep?" she asks in a faint voice, her brows knitting together. He looks at her shivering hands.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it?" he states. "Perhaps you'll feel a bit better after sleeping for a while."

She hums thoughtfully. For a moment, she looks strange in that Parisian afternoon light. Sun will set soon enough, but until that moment, they have a chance to just forget about everything.

"Will you hold me?" she asks. Gleb meets her eyes. She truly wants to be held? She wants him to hold her?

"Of course," he says as a smile blooms on his lips.

It's a bit awkward going to sleep on that narrow bed with her, but eventually, they find enough room for them both. He has his arm curled over her stomach, and her breath tickles his neck. She falls asleep quickly, but he cannot sleep, not right now. His heart is still beating too quickly; he's too on edge after the fight in public.

Gleb thinks about the bravery on her face and in her posture, her eyes with that hardness in them, the sharpness of her words. Now her face is softened by sleep. There are no signs of anger on it anymore, and slowly, he runs his fingers across her lips. They open just the tiniest bit. She lets out a contented sigh and burrows deeper against his body.

He's been lying to himself. He's told himself that everything he does has been for the mission and to get Anya back to Russia with him, but that isn't enough to explain causing such a scene in public.

Perhaps, possibly, just maybe he has forgotten what he's supposed to do.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" she murmurs, her eyes still closed.

He smiles and does just that, and then he closes his eyes and holds her and thinks about nothing else than how warm and lovely she is against his body.

* * *

Anya stays for the night, and when she changes into his spare pair of pyjamas, Gleb is left staring at her. She looks so small in his clothes. The fabric bunches around her ankles and she has to roll up the sleeves three times.

Gleb has never seen anything more appealing.

"You're staring at me," she says self-consciously.

"I am," he admits. "I just like how you look like this."

They're both clean after a bath. Anya sits in front of him, completely unprompted, and Gleb relaxes as he starts brushing her hair for her. The tension disappears from her shoulders slowly. She turns her head just enough that she can see him from the corner of her eye.

"I don't know if I ever want to see him again," she says. Gleb wonders what to say to that. He wouldn't want her to ever deal with those conmen again. They put silly ideas into her head. They tried to keep her away from her home.

Gleb knows he has to be careful with his words.

"He has no right to tell you what to do," he says slowly. Anya hums thoughtfully.

"Dima can be a bit of an asshole, but Vlad is nice," she says wistfully as Gleb nearly chokes when he hears her swear so casually. She catches his reaction and turns her head with a raised eyebrow. He looks down on his lap and eventually stops pretending he's still brushing knots out of her hair.

Anya is still looking at him, a challenge growing in her eyes.

"Are you going to say that women shouldn't say such words?" she asks in a low voice. He shakes his head just the slightest amount. Her frown just grows. "Then what is it?"

"I just didn't think you'd be one to swear so casually," he shrugs. "You didn't seem like the type."

"And do you know the type?" Anya teases him. "Spend enough time with such low-lives as that, huh?"

He sniffles as if he was offended.

"Too much for my taste," he says. "The girls always drink my best tea."

Anya perks up in interest.

"The girls?" she asks, a grin spreading to her face. "Do you often invite girls to your office, Gleb Vaganov?"

He blushes as he catches onto what she is implying.

"Not like that!" he squeaks. Anya laughs openly, and then she steals a kiss from him.

It's long after that when they finally go to sleep. She sleeps much more restfully than the previous time. Gleb is too lost in his thoughts to slip into the deep sleep Anya enters so quickly, but just lying there is enough for him.

Just lying there is more than enough.

When Anya wakes up in the morning, Gleb's already washed, shaved, and suited up. Breakfast is on its way, and she blinks in surprise as he brings her food to bed. Her hair is wild and tousled. Anya yawns deeply and smiles lazily at him.

Their breakfast is stale and the tea is lukewarm because he was too eager and made it too early, but Gleb would change nothing about it.

"I suppose I have to go back eventually," Anya sighs. Gleb glances at her. He wishes she would stay with him, but this thing of theirs is still new. Anya is still more familiar with the conmen. It may take a while to get her comfortable with the idea of becoming independent.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Gleb asks. He knows she's too stubborn to be persuaded. He already saw that fire inside of her yesterday afternoon. It would be foolish to fight fire with fire.

Anya gives him a curious look. Gleb shifts a little.

"Why?" she asks. He's quiet for a moment.

"Fine," he sighs. "Perhaps I still want to deck him."

Anya's lips curl into a smile.

"Not before I get to deck him," she says and kisses his cheek.

It's a shame to leave the hotel room. The warmth of spring is gone and instead they are faced with rain and grey skies. Gleb is relieved to see that Paris has its flaws as well. He had already wondered if the sun always shone in the West, but no, rain is the same everywhere.

It really isn't a long way to her hotel. Gleb stares at the place for a moment. The windows are striped with dirt and the facade has seen better days. Gleb frowns a little, but Anya doesn't even stop to think. Instead, she strides straight inside and pulls him along.

Inside, it's worse. The hallways look like the last time they were cleaned was in the previous century. The walls are thin, and Gleb hears too much, though from a spying perspective that could be useful. On top of it all, there is an odour lingering in the hallway that reminds him a little of war and men who did not bathe for weeks at a time.

Gleb thinks about his own hotel and the grumpy old man behind the front desk with appreciation that rivals his appreciation for a nice cup of tea.

Their hotel room door isn't even locked. Gleb nearly has an aneurysm thinking about how anyone could walk right in and hurt his Anya during the night.

Gleb prepares to beat an apology out of that rude conman, but he stops on his tracks as he sees the older conman look in their direction.

"Anya, my dear!" he says in blatant relief and jumps up to his feet. He strides across the room and puts his hands on Anya's shoulders and studies her carefully before even giving Gleb a glance.

"Vlad, stop fussing," Anya frowns, but Gleb can hear the happy undertone in her voice.

The older conman, Vladimir Popov, looks blankly at Gleb.

"So you are the reason why Dmitry deserved a slap," the older conman says.

Dammit, Gleb actually  _ likes _ him.

"Let me get him," Vlad tells Anya. "He has an apology prepared for you."

Anya and Gleb finally step in properly and close the door behind them, but Gleb remains hovering by it, uneasy and wondering whether this meeting will escalate into another fight.

To his surprise, their rooms are quite clean, though shabby. They have certainly seen better days. The pictures on the wall are crooked and the carpet is faded, but there is a lounge and three doors.

Gleb wonders why exactly they would need rooms this large. He can understand why Anya would want a room of her own, but having a sitting room is just foolish. These are the best rooms in a squalid hotel, and even though they act like they are better than they truly are, the truth cannot be denied.

Vlad comes out of the room he entered after muffled talking on the other side, and the mulish conman that follows him gives Gleb a dirty look. The latter stares back blankly. If the conman thinks he'll be intimidated by something like that, he is horribly wrong.

Gleb has dealt with Commander Gorlinsky and Jelena Sergeyevna, but most importantly, he has dealt with his own mother. No man could ever instill that same fear of God in him that his mother managed to cause with slightly narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry," the ruder of the two conmen says, grinding his teeth together. Vlad shoves his shoulder. Dmitry nearly falls over. His face darkens even further.

"For what?" Vlad prompts primly. Dmitry glares at him. Gleb wonders if the boy has ever apologised for anything in his life. He certainly acts like he hasn't, all child-like and rude.

"For calling you a whore," Dmitry mutters angrily. Anya takes in a quick breath that she lets out through her nose. Gleb prepares himself for another fight.

"I suppose we shouldn't expect any manners from street rats like you," Anya says with sickening sweetness. Gleb's eyes snap to her. He desperately tries to mask his laughter as coughing, but based on the dirty look Dmitry gives him, he fails at that.

Vlad lays a heavy hand on Dmitry's shoulder. The boy takes in a breath that is just enough to stop him from sprouting out his first thought.

"I just want you to be safe," Dmitry says slowly and glances at Gleb with distrust and hatred in his eyes. Anya raises her chin and narrows her eyes.

"I am very safe with him," Anya states and sits down so smoothly it almost throws Gleb off his guard. His eyes are nailed to how her hands smooth out the hem of her skirt. There is something in the way she does it that is unlike any woman Gleb has observed before. It takes a moment to realise it is all because of her posture.

No woman he has seen has sat quite like that and looked natural doing it. She looks graceful, almost lounging in that chair all the while being respectable. There's something highly practiced in that pose, something that is unnatural to the person Gleb knows as Anya.

He narrows his eyes and glances back at the conmen. There is something fishy going on, but what it is, Gleb has no clue.

He will find out, he supposes as he takes a seat next to Anya. The younger conman's lips thin out and he glances at the door.

"Well, since I'm no longer wanted here," he tries to jeer.

"Please do leave," Anya says sweetly with a smile. Gleb's lips twitch as Dmitry gives her a dirty look, but there is no backing away at that point, so he leaves.

Finally,  _ finally _ there is some peace and quiet. Vlad takes a seat himself. He looks respectable enough, though his clothes are more worn than Anya's. Even so, they fit him. He's most likely gotten some of his older clothes modified or bought these new ones secondhand.

Dmitry, however, looked like he was trying to even put Anya in his shadow. His clothes were completely frivolous and useless.

Gleb thinks Jelena, Maria, and Olga would have liked his clothes even if the man wearing them is less than ideal.

"Your clothes are quite different than I would expect from a Russian officer that's just arrived in the West."

Seems like Vlad has also taken this chance to study Gleb's demeanour. The man in question gives a polite non-smile to the older of the two conmen and leans back as if he was completely at ease.

"My friends insisted on it," he says casually enough. "One should always be prepared, yes?"

Vlad chuckles.

"Yes, I'd say so," he murmurs with a twinkle in his eyes. Gleb is about to answer when a door to a different room than the one where Dmitry was in opens and a woman steps out.

Gleb stares at her for a long moment, and so does Anya. The woman looks like she's desperately tried to make herself look presentable, but Gleb sees she's had to work her hair up in a hurry and that there are creases in her clothes. Most importantly, she stinks of sex.

"Vlad, darling, I must go now," the woman says. To his horror, Gleb realises she's a White Russian. Even more horrifying is the realisation that the woman is the Dowager Empress's lady-in-waiting, Countess Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch. Vlad grins back at her and gets up. Gleb averts his eyes too late. His corneas are assaulted by the worst sight he has ever witnessed in his life as the older conman ravishes the woman with no shame or care for the fact that there are two other people in the room.

Why is the Dowager Empress's lady-in-waiting in a dingy Parisian hotel, kissing a conman straight out of Russia?

Gleb wishes he could call his friends and ask for backup. This is not what he prepared for. This is not what he knows. He needs someone who knows what to say in such a situation, someone with people skills, someone who doesn't get horribly uncomfortable by those noises the two other people in the room make.

"Darling, Anya, Vlad has told me you need some new clothes!" Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch says with bright eyes that gleam with a threat of gossip and other womanly tortures. Gleb's survival instinct tells him to get up and dash out of the window onto the courtyard, nevermind the risk of breaking a leg, but he doesn't do that. Instead, he freezes in the hopes of the woman paying no attention to him.

Someone must be on his side since Anya gets up and gives his cheek a quick kiss before dashing out of the hotel suite with Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch.

"Alright then, you Bolshevik goody two shoes," the older conman hisses once the women are out of hearing range. "If Anya ever gets hurt with you, I will hold you responsible for it."

Gleb stares back at the conman with the calmness that only comes from having faced certain death or the prospect of listening to Ilya Mishkin ramble about his horrible taste in tea.

"Believe me, my intention is not to hurt Anya," Gleb answers with a neutral expression. Vlad narrows his eyes.

"Then what is it?" the man asks. "Surely you didn't come all the way to Paris just to have a little fun with a street-sweeper. I'm quite sure Russia doesn't appreciate its officers behaving quite like that."

Gleb can feel anger bubbling inside himself, but he takes in a breath that pushes it down enough to let him think clearly.

"That," he answers Vlad with a sharp smile, "is none of your business."

Vlad stares at him incredibly hard.

"Why would you even toy with her like that?" the older man murmurs, clearly trying to think through it. "You do realise the dangers of playing with a woman's emotions? Anya isn't some dainty girl who'll just take it kindly."

Gleb takes in a sharp breath.

"I am not toying with her emotions," he answers, his teeth slightly bared. "I want her to be happy, and she'll be much happier in a life where two conmen like you aren't filling her head with stupid rumours!"

Vlad's eyes narrow slightly.

"Well," he murmurs, "then what will make her happy?"

"A nice and warm home in Russia with a husband who cares for her and keeps her safe," Gleb answers, convinced of his own words. "She'll be much happier with work that doesn't make her cold all the time or having to participate in cons that prey on her lost past and memories. She'll be much happier in a life where she can make memories of her own and be satisfied with them instead of chasing mad dreams!"

Vlad hums thoughtfully and leans back in his chair.

"No doubt she'd be happier like that," the man says. The sadness in his voice throws Gleb off. The officer stares at the conman with narrowed eyes.

Vlad rolls his eyes dramatically.

"I have a heart, you know," he tells Gleb. "I don't like using her like this. I know she could find peace in other ways, but she is the one who wanted to get to Paris and she is the one who managed to arrange things for us. She would have gotten here even without us."

Vlad quietens for a moment. When he continues, his voice is softer.

"It's a cruel world, and Paris is filled with jaded people," Vlad murmurs. "If I can help keep her safe from the worst of it, then I'll try my damned best to do so."

They stare at each other for a long time.

"Truce?" Gleb eventually spits out. It's hard to believe he's even considering it, but his life has been very strange ever since that meeting in Leningrad. He might as well try accepting it by now.

The conman's eyes are glistening as a wide, charming smile blooms on his face.

"I knew you'd see my way!" he says with a cheeriness that must be false, and then he drags Gleb out of the hotel room, babbling in a mixture of French and Russian about all kinds of things.

It's a strange acquaintance Gleb makes, but perhaps slightly more sane than Maria.


	9. In Which We Enter the Ietsd Slib

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adulting is chaotic. The next few chapters are going to be even more chaotic.
> 
> Next chapter dropping within the week, most likely.

To say that things are a bit tense even after their tentative truce is the understatement of the century. The conmen are still uncertain of Anya's choice of companionship, but she is quick to put her foot down and put the men in their places. 

Gleb, however, could not be any happier. His mission is going well, Paris hasn't been its usual horrid cesspool of capitalism, and he has several dates planned with Anya. They've already walked across the town to gawk at the most famous sights.

The two weeks he's been in Paris has felt like a dream. Gleb cannot quite describe the happiness that blooms in his chest when he gets to sit next to Anya on park benches and listen to her excited rattling about the city. She is so carefree as she takes his hand in the streets. She's so happy when she gets to talk freely in his hotel room while they sip on evening tea.

She practically lives with him in his room. The old man behind the desk has started to make some less than flattering comments about how they are abusing his poor beds, but Gleb hasn't paid much attention to him. If the man has any real complaints, he would not be too shy to air them.

Sure, the conmen still are a bit frosty and he has to fend off his friends each time he calls home to Leningrad, but those are only minor discomforts in his otherwise splendid life.

It's amazing how a small holiday from his work and a beautiful girl to listen to can change a man.

Wait. Wasn't this supposed to be a job?

Gleb's too happy to care about such minor details.

One morning, Anya looks thoughtful as she accepts her morning tea from Gleb.

"Have you ever gone dancing?" she asks curiously. Gleb shrugs.

"I know how to dance, but I'm not the biggest fan of it," he states and then frowns. "Why?"

Anya hums and stretches her legs next to his.

"I was thinking that maybe we could go dancing together," she suggests. From her lips, it sounds appealing.

Gleb agrees to it and only once she is gone does he remember that going dancing means he'll have to dance in public. He pinches his nose and sighs, but a promise is a promise.

They agreed to meet outside the club where they first met in Paris, and that is where he walks even though he wonders if she'll be safe making her way to this part of town after dark. There are street lamps and many people around, but he still frets. She looks dainty. Some men may want to take advantage of that.

Relief comes out as a sigh as Gleb finally spots her, and he smiles at the sight of her familiar, orange party dress. She easily rises to her toes and kisses his cheek. It still makes him blush even though they've been doing this in public for a week now.

Gleb never wants to stop blushing when she kisses him. He never wants to give up the feeling of exhilaration as her lips touch his body.

"Come on!" she laughs and pulls him across the street towards the neon monstrosity. Gleb's face freezes.

"Aren't we going there?" he jerks his head backwards towards the smaller, classier club. Anya grins widely at him.

"Nope!" she answers cheekily and winks at the man at the door. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of them, but lets them pass by easily.

The Ietsd Slib, or the place more often known as the Neva Club, is full of White Russians and tasteless decor. The place is all the worst parts of the Russia gone by: filled with the previously rich who did not lose their attitudes alongside their fortunes, gaudy decor that looks like it was stolen from one of the Romanov palaces, and enough alcohol to drown a small Russian town.

Gleb does not approve of the place at all.

"Do they really need to wear so many jewels?" he grumbles under his breath. "You could feed the poor for at least a year with all the jewels _she_ is wearing."

Anya glances at the woman he has been glaring at and shoves her elbow none too gently into his side.

"Hush, you," she chides him with a mock glare. "Don't pay any attention, and maybe I can pinch their stuff for you to sell for the good of Russia."

Gleb… does not know what to think about that. Thankfully, he doesn't have to, as Anya pulls him to the dance floor and he suddenly has to remember how to move his feet and to guide a nice lady.

It takes a few moments to get his feet moving like he wants them to move, but slowly, they adjust to the rhythm. Anya is quick enough on her feet to avoid any bruised toes as he tries his best to make the dance feel natural. But slowly, they both adjust to one another.

The dances at the club aren't the nonsensical Western dances like in the club on the other side of the street. If they had been, Gleb would have most likely headed straight out onto the train station to catch the first train back to Leningrad. But no, these are White Russians who still long for the land of yesterday. They dance mostly ballroom dances from Romanov balls.

Gleb did not see a single Romanov ball, but the pictures he has seen from those days bear enough of a resemblance to this room even though the Romanov days are long gone and the fashions have changed.

The polka fades out. Anya has a bright flush to her cheeks, and she looks at him so easily it has his heart beating so fast in a way that has nothing to do with dancing.

A slow waltz begins. Gleb bows to her, offering his hand, and she accepts it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The steps come to her as if waltzing was the thing her feet were made for, and they glide across the floor, twirling and just enjoying their closeness.

Her eyes are half closed. Gleb looks at Anya and wishes he was brave enough to dip her and kiss her in front of all these people, wishes he could do something so reckless, but he doesn't dare.

Anya catches his look, and she presses closer to him until their breath mingles. For a short, tantalizing moment she teases him with being so close yet so far away, and then his resolve breaks and Gleb presses a kiss to her lips.

There are some murmurs as they pull apart. There is a slight blush on his face as he pulls her toward the bar and orders drinks.

"At least it's not the Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch with her boy again," he barely hears from a booth before loud laughter nearly drowns the music.

Gleb glances in the group's direction and wonders just what the woman in question has managed to do to have those comments made about her so casually. There's not much time to think about it as the club quiets down.

"Darlings, a toast for Russia and its fine young men!" the Countess in question announces loudly as she sweeps in with Vlad the conman in tow. Gleb stares at the sight dumbly, and then he glances at Anya.

"Don't ask," she murmurs as she looks at the show.

They slip away from the bar, but not quickly enough as the Countess and her conman spot them.

"Anya, darling!" the woman says cheerfully and pulls Vlad Popov after her by his bowtie. Gleb stares at the sight, not quite believing it. The Countess stops to give Gleb a careful look over. "And your beau," she says flirtatiously.

"Lily, this is Gleb," Anya officially introduces them even though Gleb's eyes are pleading her for a hasty retreat. He isn't quite that lucky, though. Instead of safely going back to their hotel, Anya pulls him into a booth that magically clears out as Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch approaches. She takes her seat daintily and downs a shot of vodka as if it was water. Her lipstick doesn't even smear on the glass.

She must do the same trick with her lipstick that Jelena does.

"Is he _nice_?" Lily asks. Something in the way she poses the questions makes Gleb feel like there is something more implied in such simple words. He glances at Anya and Vlad and gets confirmation from their slightly disbelieving faces. Neither looks scandalised, though, so Gleb thinks it cannot be anything too bad.

"Oh, he's a charmer," Anya says with a wink and a squeeze of Gleb's thigh. The man in question nearly chokes on his vodka and he gives Anya a nervous look. They are in _public_ . People are _staring_.

Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch laughs raucously and throws an arm over Vlad's shoulders. She gives the man a look that makes Gleb worry for his corneas once again.

"You need more clothes," the woman tells her. Gleb glances down at his suit.

"This suit is just fine, comrade," he tells her. The Countess rolls her eyes.

" _The_ suit is just fine, but what about when you need a change of clothes?" the woman says. Gleb raises his eyebrows.

"I don't think another suit is quite necessary," he argues. "It's wrong to be wasteful."

"Then I'll simply have to ruin this suit to get you into a new one," Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch states and lights a cigarette. Gleb's hackles are raised.

"But -"

"Good boys don't argue back," she says and takes a drag of her cigarette. Gleb stares at her slack-jawed. He's having a hard time believing she'd just do something like that.

She takes her sweet time and blows the smoke to the side.

"Anya, you agree with me on this, don't you?" Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch asks. Anya glances at the woman, and then she glances at Gleb.

"She's kind of right, you know," Anya admits thoughtfully. "You can't wear just the one suit forever."

Gleb is about to open his mouth and argue against it, but then he thinks better of it. At best, it will start a fight. At worst, he'll be subjected to even more time with Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch in the future.

"Then we're in agreement, yes?" Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch asks with gleaming eyes. "I'll take your boy for some shopping, and you'll take care of my boy in turn, right?"

Gleb glances at Vlad, but strangely enough, the man does not seem to be bothered by being called a boy even though he is comfortably middle-aged.

Gleb does not understand these people. He does not understand them at all.

"Tomorrow, then!" the Countess decrees. Gleb scowls.

"Not all of us have the money to spend on such frivolities," he points out as he nurses the rest of his vodka.

"Psht, _money_ ," Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch says and gives him a very carefree wave of her hand. "I know reasonable tailors who'll work miracles for a few pennies. Paris, my dear, is all about who you know."

Something in those words makes Gleb suspicious, especially the way Anya and Vlad react to them. Vlad looks curiously cheerful, while Anya goes a little too still.

Gleb wonders whether they've already brought up their con to the Dowager Empress's lady-in-waiting and if so, what her reaction to it must have been. Perhaps she's trying to let them down gently, or perhaps she is suspicious of them already. Whatever the case, Gleb is worried.

Their con may just make his commanding officers in Leningrad change their minds. So far, he has had a lot of freedom with his methods, but if there is even the slightest doubt that the conmen could sell Anya as the dead Grand Duchess, Gleb will have new orders to follow.

He doesn't want to think about what they might be. He doesn't want to think about how he was told to bring a gun to a peaceful mission. He doesn't want to think about what he might have to do to Anya if his orders are changed.

He doesn't want to think about what he might _not_ do if his orders are changed.

Since Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch gets what she wants, there is no reason to be miserable. She really is the life of the party even when she's not entertaining the common folk with her antics. Basking in her attention is almost familiar. Gleb feels uncomfortably like being a boy in Yekaterinburg again when near Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch. Heaven knows his mother would box his ears for the comparison, but there is something similar in Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch and Mama Vaganova.

Perhaps it's the cunning in both women's eyes, the hard steel underneath a kindly surface. Perhaps it's just the curls and the expressive hands.

Gleb really hopes it's the latter.

At some point during the night, the younger conman, Dmitry, slunk in. Gleb wonders why the people at the door would let in such scum like him. Perhaps he can pretend to be polite in a man's company. After all, he seems very intent on talking up his companion.

Gleb frowns as he studies the man. Even seeing him across the room is enough to let Gleb know the man has much less money than common sense, and he must be lacking in the latter to willingly be in the company of Dmitry Sudayev. The French the man speaks sounds awkward and stilted. There is a hint of another language carrying through.

A non-Russian foreigner at the Neva Club is a strange sight indeed. Gleb wonders what Dmitry Sudayev's motivations for talking up that man must be. He doesn't look rich enough for a conman to bother with.

Dmitry is leaning in on the conversation as if he was Ilya trying to discuss his horrible taste in tea with Gleb. The man he is talking to seems to be much more willing to listen to such drivel than Gleb was, at least based on the way a smile curls on his face.

The shabby man puts a hand on Dmitry's arm and leans closer like a lover.

Gleb's brain blanks. He thinks back to all those times Ilya invited him to walk on patrols with him and how he used to smile at him. He thinks about how Ilya wanted to constantly converse with him about matters that used to annoy him because Ilya clearly knew _nothing_ about such things whereas Gleb knew much more.

He thinks about Ilya's hopeful smiles and his manner of slapping his hand on Gleb's arm and letting it stay there for a while.

_Ilya had been flirting with him_ is almost as jarring as the thought that _the shabby man was flirting with Dmitry Sudayev_.

The Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch is rattling on and on about how they'll have to go to the tailors as soon as possible so that Gleb will have proper attire for a ballet or an opera or something, but Gleb barely pays any attention to the woman's rambling. It seems like Vlad and Anya are handling the matter for him already. They seem intent on figuring out the logistics, though why anyone would need to carefully coordinate a meeting at a theatre goes over Gleb's head, that is how occupied he is by his realisation.

Ilya Mishkin had been _flirting_ with Gleb Vaganov for who knows how long. Gleb tries to think about back to his own behaviour and figure out if he had accidentally encouraged the man in some way. To his horror, he realises that at least Olga must have known about it, and if Olga knew about the flirting, then Maria and Jelena must have known about it as well.

Did the whole office know about it? Gleb thinks in horror about what might happen if the rumours of their supposed flirting spread any further. Ilya might get shot for his proclivities. The state may claim otherwise, but people are not that quick to change. _Gleb_ might be shot for his supposed proclivities even if he did marry Anya and claimed innocence.

Perhaps he could bribe someone to vouch for the fact that he was as dense as a brick wall. He quickly racks through his brain for some good blackmail material on Olga, Maria, and Jelena.

"Yes, yes," he says and waves his hand as he notices that the others are staring at him questioningly. "Swan Lake is a good Russian ballet."

The others look at him a bit too long after that. Gleb stares at the table and is too busy to think about that disaster in the face of this bigger one.

Eventually, Lily and Vlad get up and go dancing. Anya is quick to pull him to the dance floor as well for a few songs, but not even dancing with her can bring him out of his shock.

It is nice, that must be said, just not enough to claim his attention completely.

It is a shame when Anya asks him to take her back to her hotel, though not a surprise. He hasn't been paying as much attention to her as would be polite, after all. 

The club has quietened down as the clock has travelled further and further towards morning. At some point Vlad and Lily left for the gardens, giggling madly like two teenagers. Gleb tries his hardest to not think about what those two might be doing back there.

The streets of Paris are hazy with a mist that hangs over their forms. The night is unseasonably cool. Gleb isn't complaining, though, because the coolness makes Anya hang on his arm and edge closer to his side.

"Tonight was fun," he murmurs to her in a soft voice as they get nearer to her hotel. She smiles.

"Even though something was bothering you?" she asks. There is a slight nervousness to her voice.

Gleb looks at his shoes and tries to get a grip of himself. He must be doing a horrible job, trying to mask his shock and realisation.

"I just didn't expect your conman to behave like that," he says quietly. "Not in public."

Anya is staring at him, her eyes impossibly wide. They stop in front of the hotel. She stares at him, nervousness blatant on her face, and he looks at her hands and licks his lips.

"You should tell him to be more careful," Gleb rambles on and glances at her stiff face. "I personally have nothing against it, but others may not look at it so kindly."

Anya's lips are narrowed. There is wariness in her eyes.

Gleb sighs.

"Just tell Sudayev to be slightly more discreet from now on, won't you?"

Anya's eyes get interestingly large. Her mouth drops open.

"Of course," she says as if in a daze. Gleb frowns as he looks at her. She is blinking hard. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles with the care and softness he should have shown her all night long.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Gleb tells her with a smile.

"I'll come pick you up from your hotel," Anya says. "I want to be the first one to see what kinds of clothes Lily gets you."

Gleb freezes.

How in the name of sanity did he nearly forget _that torture_ that was waiting for him?

"Are you sure you don't want me to come up?" he very nearly begs Anya. She giggles softly, and then she presses a kiss to his cheek.

There is no lipstick trace on his skin, not after their night of partying.

"I think I can manage a night on my own," she whispers into his ear. Shivers travel down his spine. "And besides, it will be all the more delicious to meet after being separated for a little longer, yes?"

He agrees with her, and then he steals a kiss from her.

Anya leaves him smiling under a street-lamp as she gets into the relative safety of their hotel. Even though Gleb worries what might happen to her if some brute breaks into their rooms during her rest, he still walks to his own hotel.

The old man behind the desk raises his eyebrows as he enters alone.

"Did you put your foot in your mouth and now she's dumped you?" he asks, flicking his newspaper closed on the desk. Gleb frowns.

"No," he says. "She just wanted to sleep in her own bed for a change."

The old man behind the desk snorts.

"If you're smart, boy," and oh how embarrassing it is to get called a boy at his age, _especially_ after Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch called him the same thing, "you'll marry her as soon as possible. Those kinds of women aren't a dime a dozen."

"Oh, that's the plan," Gleb murmurs as he heads to his own room, leaving the old man behind the desk cackling for some incomprehensible reason.

Gleb gets to his room. It is surprisingly miserable without Anya there.

He'll just have to convince her to return, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to skip the hornies that have nothing to do with plot, go straight to chapter 11. However, that chapter does have hornies that most definitely are there for plot reasons.
> 
> You have been warned.


	10. In Which Gleb Gets More Pretty Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some plot-irrelevant hornies. If you wish to skip them, feel free to! Next chapter is going to be the ballet and it will have some plot-relevant hornies.
> 
> No idea when that will drop, though.

After fifteen minutes spent all by himself in the presence of Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch, Gleb is ready to take back all the nice things he's ever said about Paris. The city is horrible, it's filled with rude French people, and the White Russians are the moldy and soured cream on top of a rotten cake.

The Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch is rattling on and on about clothes while Gleb follows her with a stony face. There is no sense trying to outrun women like her. He already tried those tactics in Leningrad, and all he got for his efforts was Jelena and Maria nagging at him and Olga looking at him with such big and sad eyes that made Gleb feel more shame than leaving his childhood home and mother behind had.

Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch may not have the state's resources, but she is well-acquainted with the city and probably has enough blackmail material to take over France if the thought ever entered her flighty mind.

Right now, she is talking the ear off of some poor tailor who looks like he's way in over his head. Gleb shares a grim look with the man. The poor fellow swallows as if he was afraid that Gleb might bite.

If his mother had raised a different man, Gleb just might, but he's better than that.

He may also be afraid of what Mama Vaganova might do if she ever heard he acted like that, but no one else needs to know such things.

"Oh, and he'll need a tuxedo," Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch orders in a haughty voice. That makes the tailor finally splutter. On top of all other frivolous demands, the tuxedo seems to be the straw to break the camel's back.

"My lady," the enraged tailor cries out, "I cannot simply magic a tuxedo out of thin air. Those take  _ time _ , which I will not have if you insist on dragging him to the ballet tomorrow night!"

Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch raises a thinly-plucked eyebrow.

"Dear Joseph," she purrs, and to his horror Gleb realises what is about to happen as she lays a claiming hand on his bicep, "you'd do a favour for me, wouldn't you?"

Gleb is half horrified, half amused as he looks at the Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch blinking her eyes way too many times and smiling sweetly all the while pushing her cleavage towards the younger tailor.

The poor fool takes one glance at Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch and his resolve melts like winter snow into boots when entering a warm building. Gleb mutely shakes his head as the tailor picks up a half-finished tuxedo and fits it onto Gleb, making minor adjustments along the way. All throughout it, Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch purrs horrible things into the tailor's ears.

Gleb has never before wished he was more like his mother, but he'd gladly exchange all his hearing just to get away from the half-murmured things he catches even though he tries his damndest not to hear anything at all.

The torture at the tailor's shop finally comes to an end. Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch pays the poor fool with some notes that cannot be anywhere near the actual worth of Gleb's new clothes. The man in question is just relieved to be breathing the dirty Parisian spring air that makes his nose itch with allergies.

"Well, it has been an experience," Gleb says, already collecting the bags. Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch gives him an unimpressed look.

"Do you really think I'd let you get away with just decorating the outside and let the insides go untouched?" she clicks her tongue in annoyance. Gleb stares at her warily.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're forgiven," she decrees although that is not what Gleb meant at all. The man is already frowning and getting ready to argue against her when she grabs his arm and pulls him towards a department store at the corner of two larger streets.

"Really, Gleb," she says with far too much familiarity as she squeezes his arm in a deathgrip, "I couldn't possibly disappoint dear Anya like  _ that _ . I know Russian fashions, and I know how horribly behind they drag."

Gleb looks at the woman warily as she manhandles him across the department store into the men's section, and then his face gets beetroot red as he realises just what Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch intends to get him now.

Gleb has never before seen such capitalist extravagance. There are bright lights and signs all over the store, not to mention the over-eager shop assistants who descend upon them like wolves sensing a fresh carcass. Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch speaks to many of them using their first names and as if she knew them.

They whisk Gleb with them.

Gleb tries his very hardest to forget the existence of the following hour.

For some very strange reason, Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch knows everything about men's underwear trends. At some point, the horrifying thought that she must have pulled Vlad along for a similar shopping trip crosses poor Gleb's mind, and he is left in an even more mortified state of mind.

She takes no pity on him, simply piling excessively expensive underwear onto Gleb's arms and telling him in no uncertain terms that he should just shut his mouth and think about how much Anya will like these new clothes of his.

Gleb very dearly hopes no one in Leningrad ever learns how much money the Countess Malevskaya-Malevitch forces him to spend that afternoon on underwear. If they ever do, Gleb can never return home. Olga would look at him with disappointment and Ilya would shake his head and murmur something about even the mighty falling for the temptation of capitalism. The worst, however, would be Jelena and Maria. The two would tease him for the rest of his life.

Gleb despairs even at the thought of that.

When he finally gets to his hotel room, he falls face down on the bed and nearly suffocates himself into the soft covers. If he never has to meet Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch ever again, it will be far too soon.

Slowly rolling onto his back, Gleb rubs his temples and tries to get the headache away. When his hands prove to be too weak for that task, he gets up with a groan and starts making tea. After all, nothing is better than a nice cup of tea after a long and hard day of pleasing women of dubious sanity.

There is a knock on the door. Gleb perks up and opens it for Anya. She grins unabashedly at him and steps inside the room.

The kiss she gives him is more than enough to soothe him. Gleb nearly forgets about the tea.

"At least she was nice enough to leave you alive," Anya notes with satisfaction as she lets her hand run down his chest. Gleb smiles goofily at his favourite street-sweeper and pulls her towards the tea set and the food he had been preparing for himself.

She's awfully impatient as she sips on the tea. Her eyes hold amusement in them, and then they become more curious as she looks at all the bags and boxes Gleb was forced to take.

"Did she empty out the shop?" Anya asks curiously. Gleb feels the headache returning with a vengeance and he hurries to drink some tea in the hopes of managing to stow it away for at least a little while.

"Anya, if you like me at all, you will never force Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch upon me ever again," he says with a serious voice. Anya raises her eyebrows. "Please. I don't think I can take any more of her antics."

"She can be a bit much, yes," Anya notes as if she was a wizened old man who was discussing much more serious matters than the lady-in-waiting of a former Empress.

There is blessed silence for two croissants and three quarters of a tea cup before Anya apparently cannot contain herself any longer.

"Come on," she looks at him with those big eyes of hers, blinking them in the way that makes him melt, "show me what you got."

Gleb gives her a half-hearted glare, but he does set down the tea cup and take off his suit jacket and vest. Anya's eyes look at him with a whole new intensity as he puts on one of the new vests and the other suit jacket he now owns. He spreads his hands a little.

"I still think my own suits would have been just fine," he mutters mulishly. Anya shushes him and looks at him with wide eyes that darken slowly. Gleb frowns and wonders why her usually so eager gaze would become like that.

"What other things did she get for you?" Anya asks and gets up herself. There's no stopping her. She's already studying the bags, and Gleb turns a violent red as she pulls out what Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch called boxer shorts.

Anya has a very strange look on her face as she slowly turns towards Gleb.

"I want to see you in these," she says, but Gleb has been in the army. He recognises an order even when it isn't explicit. With a doubtful look, he starts taking off his new clothes, and then he even takes off his dress shirt and trousers.

Anya is still staring at him intently. Gleb tries to tell himself that this is just like getting undressed in the army barracks, but no one stared at him like that when he got undressed there.

Well. At least not as openly as Anya stares at him.

With some hesitation, he turns sideways and quickly pulls his usual underwear off and puts on the new clothes. He is very self-consciously staring at the wallpaper a bit behind her head is supposed to be when he turns back to her, but to his surprise, she is on her knees on the floor in front of him.

"Anya?" he asks in surprise. "What –?"

He never finishes the question. Anya looks up into his eyes as her hands climb his thighs and then, they tug the new boxer briefs just low enough that he becomes uncovered.

His breath catches at his throat as her hands pull him out of those boxer briefs, and his heart nearly stops as she takes him into her mouth.

Gleb feels like he's choking. He stares at the woman on her knees resting between his legs, and their eyes meet. He whimpers weakly as she pushes him deeper into her mouth.

Anya winks at him. He lets out a small noise that is half begging for more and half begging for mercy.

Gleb thought her mouth could never be any more perfect than it was when he got to kiss her for the first time, but oh how wrong he had been. If there is heaven, this is it. There cannot be anything better in this world than having Anya in front of him, making him feel so good, looking at him like that.

Gleb could write bad poetry about this. He could spend the rest of his years composing horrible sonnets to the feeling of her silky mouth on him. He could describe how her hair looks as his fingers curl into it and squeeze it. His hips want to buck but he tries his hardest to stop himself.

She pulls apart for a moment.

"Fuck my mouth," she says. Gleb's jaw draps and his cock twitches in her hand. She grins at his reaction. "I know you want to."

It's almost enough to undo him right there and then. He looks at her, torn apart by his instinct to treat her with the respect she deserves and the need to feel her mouth on him again.

Gleb doesn't believe in God, but he most certainly believes in Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch's taste in clothing.

She makes the choice for him and pushes him deep into her throat. Her hands rise to cover his hands and squeeze them tighter into her hair.

He still tries to be gentlemanly about it. He doesn't dare buck into her mouth, doesn't quite get over his worry of choking her.

She looks him deep in the eye, and even though there are some tears gathering in them, Gleb will never forget the lust that burns in those intese blue eyes as they dare him to fuck into her mouth.

He lasts an embarrassingly short time. He tries to warn her with a half-aborted attempt at saying her name, but she just pushes him deeper into her mouth and swallows around him.

He leans heavily against the wall and gathers his breath as Anya licks him once more, showing a glimpse of the white stuff in her mouth. Gleb's cock twitches in interest at the sight as she swallows and smiles at him.

"Such a good boy," Anya murmurs. "I knew it would be good for you to get some new clothes."

"If this is the reward I get for shopping with Lily Malevskaya-Malevitch, I'll do it any day again," he blurts out. Anya's grin widens into easy laughter. She gets up from her knees and tucks him back into the boxers. There's a slight, healthy blush to her cheeks. Her chest is still rising.

She presses against him. Gleb looks softly at her.

"What do you want?" he asks with a murmur. "How do you want me?"

Anya looks like a cat who has caught the juiciest mouse in the town as she lays down on his bed and half-leans against the headboard.

"A favour for a favour?" she asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Gleb looks at her for a moment in wonder, and then, he lowers himself in between her legs. She shifts around until she gets her skirts gathered around her hips. Her lovely, silky bloomers tempt him with the knowledge of what lies underneath, but he doesn't draw them off of her quite yet.

"You'll have to guide me," he murmurs as he runs his hand down the inseam of her thigh. She shivers in anticipation.

"My pleasure," she murmurs back and looks at him with hooded eyes.

He follows his hand with his lips and Anya shivers in excitement. Gleb's eyes carefully catalogue her reactions to all the ways he touches her. His hands slip underneath her bloomers, not close enough to where she probably wants him to touch her, but hinting at the promise of what's to come.

Her skin is nice and pale here. Gleb gives her right thigh many slow kisses to the thin scars that cross it. For a moment he wonders where they have come from, but then her thighs squeeze around his neck. His breath halts in his throat and his eyes search for hers. She gives him a reproachful look.

Something wicked must possess him, because he gives back a much too bright smile.

"Yes?" he asks. "Did you want something?"

Her eyes narrow slightly as she stares back at him.

"Well then," she deems. "Do your worst."

Gleb stares up at her in surprise, but then a smile curls on his lips. He lets his hands run unhurriedly over her silky bloomers. Anya spreads her thighs for him again. His hands are teased by the heat that is so close yet so far.

There is a wet spot in her bloomers where the heat and soft smell of arousal stems from. Gleb licks his lips and wonders what it will be like to feel that heat against his mouth, against his tongue. He wonders what it will be like to feel her bucking her crotch against his face and seeking pleasure like that.

He's never been more eager to try anything in his life. Still, he remains languid and slow and teases her with his touch until she is shivering and chasing his hand, squeezing her thighs against his body in a warning.

Gleb is very satisfied with himself as he pulls her bloomers finally off and hears the soft  _ yes _ from her lips as she looks down at him between her legs and opens herself completely to him and his touch.

Gleb remembers how she reacted to his fingers inside of her the last time, but he decides to let that wait until she is desperate enough to babble her thoughts freely. Right now, she is staring stubbornly at him even though she's breathing hard and clearly aroused by this.

He smiles as he kisses her stomach and lets his lips slowly trickle lower.

Finally,  _ finally _ he tastes her arousal against his tongue. He glances up at her face and the blissful look upon it, at the closed eyes and the mouth that has opened.

He sucks and she moans out his name. Encouraged by that reaction, he starts experimenting and figuring out what makes her moan the loudest and squeeze his head between her thighs the hardest.

It's a very successful experiment even if he says so himself. It doesn't take long until she's gasping and moaning loud enough that their room neighbours must hear, but Gleb encourages her noises by rewarding each one with more of the same.

He pushes his fingers inside of her, and she squeezes back almost instinctively.

It's almost a surprise to have her come apart so quickly. Suddenly, her thighs cramp against the back of his neck and he nearly chokes on her skin as she rides her pleasure out on his face. He tries to remain calm as he continues in an attempt to prolong it.

She thankfully runs out of steam before he runs out of air. Her legs relax and he comes up for air, resting his chin against her stomach. His jaw aches in a completely new way, but it is a satisfying ache.

It's a short moment he rests there before he slides back up her body and rests his lips near her ear.

"I really like the way you moaned my name," he whispers. "I want to hear it again."

She looks at him with hazy eyes. There's none of the usual power remaining behind her gaze, just a satisfaction that makes Gleb feel like he has done a good job at making her feel good.

She stretches her body like a cat and grins happily at him.

"That can be arranged," she answers him with a quick peck to his lips. Gleb is almost overcome by the way their mouths taste together. He lies there for a long moment just letting himself think about it, his hand drawing idle patterns onto her stomach.

Anya puts her hand on top of his. Their eyes meet.

"So," she says as she gets up. Her dress falls to cover her bare hips, but his hand remains underneath the bunched up fabric. Gleb looks at her expectantly. "Should we go have some dinner?"

He shrugs and finally pulls his hand away even though he really doesn't want to.

"Sure," he says and then he stops. "Will we go for dinner tomorrow before going to the ballet?"

Anya hums and haws for a moment. It makes Gleb frown. She suddenly seems bothered by something, though what it is Gleb can only guess.

He thinks back to their night at the Neva club and how something about the ballet bothered Anya even back then. Gleb glances at her face, at her worried hands, and comes to his own conclusions.

"They won't see you as a street-sweeper," he tells her and gets up to meet her eye to eye. She is biting her lip. "You're worth much more than their disregard. It doesn't matter what the others think about you. To me, you're more important than the entirety of Russia."

Anya takes in a shaky breath and gives him a tense smile.

"Thanks, Gleb," she murmurs and rewards him with a kiss.

He's still smiling when they go downstairs after getting cleaned up, but not when the old man behind the desk gives the two of them an unimpressed look.

"You'd better keep it down in the future," he notes dryly and sips on tea that looks completely ruined with milk. "Others may not take it very kindly if you interrupt their beauty sleep."

Gleb flushes beet red, but Anya has mischief blinking in her eyes.

"We'll keep that in mind," she answers the old man cheekily and drags Gleb into the cool evening.

"I can never look him in the eye ever again," Gleb groans. How many times has he been filled with mortification since he arrived in Paris? It cannot be good for his health. There must be only a certain amount of mortification a man can take before he falls down dead.

Anya kisses his cheek and squeezes his hand.

"That's fine," she whispers. "You can just look into mine the next time you eat me out."

It's an interesting feeling, this combination of utter mortification and the exhilerance of that idea.

"Next time," he stutters, "maybe I'll just feast there until you're too worn out to meet my eyes."

Anya stops. Her eyes are wide and she stares at him for a long moment before she pushes him against the wall of a building and ravishes his mouth.

"That better be a promise, Gleb Vaganov," she breathes into his mouth.

Gleb is too drunk on her kisses to not promise that.

As they carry on, he stares at her and imagines how wonderful things will be with her in his life. He'd never thought he could ever find such happiness in another person or that the prospect of marrying someone could fill him with such excitement.

He smiles goofily all throughout dinner as he listens to her, and in his mind, he's already planning their life together in Russia.


End file.
